Through a Glass Darkly
by ziggy3
Summary: In the aftermath of Legolas' poisoning in Phellanthir, Glorfindel and Erestor travel back to discover the deepest secret at the heart of the ruined city of Celebrimbor. There they find secrets of their hearts as well as of the past. WARNING: SLASH
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This story is a continuation of More Dangerous, Less Wise, told from the perspective of Glorfindel and Erestor as we learn what happens to them in their mission to Phellanthir. The first part of this story picks up herewith Chapter 21 of MDLW and goes on from there.

Synopsis: In clearing the passage for the paths to be taken by the Fellowship, a party of warriors, led by Glorfindel, has encountered strange happenings in the long ruined city of Phellanthir. Legolas, injured in an attack, fears one of their lost comrades has had his spirit (his fëa) torn away and that the soul of the dead warrior is lost in Phellanthir. Erestor and Glorfindel decide it is their duty to go and investigate.

Beta: Anarithilen- still hanging in there, bless her!

Warnings: Bound to be slash in here somewhere at sometime. So just be aware, I love writing slash.

Chapter 1: Old Partings and New Returns

The plan for Erestor and Glorfindel to return to Phellanthir did not go down well with either Aragorn or Legolas of course. Annael and Saeldir were much too polite to protest but there were quizzical looks between them and raised eyebrows as they went about their business of clearing the camp, feeding the horses and tacking up.

'I am coming with you,' Legolas said immediately, half rising but he was still too weak from the poison and the anti-venom which had left him shaken and exhausted, and Erestor easily pressed him back down to his bed.

'Foolish child. You will be no help whatsoever like this,' he said and though the words were hard, Glorfindel saw that a smile touched Erestor's lips and his tone was kind. 'You must go back to Imladris and get well. Do you think this is your task? It is not.' He crouched beside Legolas then and pulled the Woodelf's resistant face towards him, looking into his eyes. 'You have another task I see. It will redeem you thoroughly. Do not fear so.'

Erestor leaned forward and to Legolas' surprise, but not horror by any means, Glorfindel noted disapprovingly, kissed him full on the lips. Not a quick peck either. Then Erestor pushed the hair back from Legolas' face and smiled. 'You are a sweet child. Just what they need.' He nodded to himself at something only he knew and Glorfindel wondered what in all of Arda it must have been like with Erestor adding to the heady mix of Fëanorian brothers, cousins and mad hangers-on.

Glorfindel noticed too that Aragorn raised an eyebrow at Erestor's kiss and when the tall counselor rose to his feet and looked at Aragorn, the Man took a nervous step back 'No silly ideas from you either,' Erestor said, but he was much sterner with Aragorn. 'You are going back too. Annael and Saeldir will keep an eye on you. Elrond has need of you,' he said emphatically, and then added smoothly, 'And Arwen.'

'You cannot go on your own! Glorfindel...' Aragorn began to appeal but Glorfindel held up his hand and shook his head.

'No. I am in agreement with Erestor this time. You are needed at home. You have much to do and this is not your task either.' He wondered even if it were truly his task, or Erestor's, but he could no more bear to leave one of his men to rot in Phellanthir, fëa or not, than he could have run from the Balrog to save his own skin. He swung his pack over Asfaloth's withers, glad to have another friend and weapon should he need it. And he knew Erestor was subtle in ways that Glorfindel was not. He had cunning and secret craft.

They led Erestor's horse, the inaptly named Niphredil, and Asfaloth up the slope to the top of the ridge and there they mounted. Niphredil laid his ears back and snapped at Asfaloth, who swished his tail but otherwise ignored him. Glorfindel thought perhaps he ought to do the same with Erestor when he snapped and jibed.

Then they took their farewells and left the three Elves and Aragorn standing watching them, Legolas leaning on Aragorn for support and Annael and Saeldir, he was sure, trying to forget what they had heard from Erestor about the way they had found Aragorn atop the youngest son of Thranduil.

The ground was hard from the frost but the sun was out and the snow was melting. The old road that once led to Ost-in-Edhil and Moria and Tharbad was nothing now but crumbling remains of the causeways with the paving broken up and scattered about. At times there was a wide track that ran alongside it worn by those merchants and traders still hardy enough to trade between the Northern regions and Rohan, Gondor and the East. They had to pick their way over the river at one point, for the bridge was broken and the ford deep and treacherous. But their sure-footed steeds were steady in the pulling current and they emerged sleek and wet, though also cold. Erestor urged Niphredil into a long gallop then to warm them all up.

But the air was cold and fresh, and Glorfindel's face tingled with it. By afternoon they had covered many leagues and now they were walking, to rest the horses, for even Niphredil had tired a little. Asfaloth stopped abruptly to rub his nose on his foreleg and Glorfindel sat easily, waiting for him to finish. They would make camp soon, somewhere near the river even though they were only one or two days maybe from Phellanthir. He watched the ridge above him, carefully scanning it for movement. Nothing. The thin line of trees, birch saplings, were bare of leaves and their silver bark gleamed. Here the snow was a thin layer, more frost than snow and it laced the boulders of the cold grey river. Above them, loomed the Misty Mountains.

Towards dusk they made camp and Glorfindel managed, after both he and Erestor had missed several times, to shoot a rabbit. He thought wryly that Legolas would have wasted fewer arrows and bagged more. Now he crouched by the stream while Asfaloth drank. He quickly, efficiently skinned the rabbit. Erestor scouted the area for Orcs, Wargs and Dwarves, as he said with a scary grin, and to be honest, both needed a moment away from the other. Erestor swore as if he delighted in finding the most blasphemous oaths he could think of and Glorfindel, always a soldier and no delicate flower himself, found himself wanting to cover his ears at times. Erestor even swore in the Black Speech.

Tutting to himself, Glorfindel washed the rabbit's blood from his hands, watching the blood slowly wash away in the cold melt-water, noticing the grey-blue pebbles and flat stones of the stream and thinking how Gimli would have lifted one from the water to consider, and comment on its size and type, carefully cataloguing its use and its source. He shook his hands and then wiped them on his cloak, thinking that he liked the Dwarf, unexpectedly. His generosity towards Legolas had surprised Glorfindel, who had fond memories of the Khazad from the old days. When they had pinned Legolas down and were forcing sere-vanda and Crystôl into him, it was Gimli who had stopped them, and it was Gimli who had soothed Legolas and asked him what he could do. Glorfindel was ashamed of himself now for having allowed that abuse, and he vowed to make it up to the Woodelf on his return.

He had been touched too, by Legolas' quiet admission of the previous night, that he had been unable to make the Merciful Cut for his comrade, that he had vowed to tell Glorfindel of his valiant friend...although Glorfindel could not now remember the boy's name. And I must, he told himself. I must make sure I remember them all.

The sky was still grey but the clouds were higher and snow seemed a long way from here. Above him the mountains loomed and he looked south as far as he could and could just see the peaks of far Caradhras and Celebdil. The sun shone on their snowy peaks so they seemed gilded.

It seemed a luxury to have this time, these precious moments of quiet when the whirlwind and storm were about to break upon them and he took the time to strip his tunic and shirt from his back, hanging them carefully on a low hanging branch. He waded into the water and dipped himself in briefly for it was cold even to Glorfindel. But he found himself thinking again of Legolas, dwelling upon the strange markings on his well-muscled torso that was surprising on one so apparently light and lithe. I am getting giddy, he thought to himself in disgust, to be dwelling upon some young warrior from Mirkwood! But he knew that it was not Legolas that he saw in his mind's eye. No, not just some young warrior, he admitted finally to himself. Thranduil's son.

It was a long time since he had last thought of Thranduil...

He waded out of the river, letting the water stream from his body and with them, he let those thoughts wash away. Pointless. Wasted.

On the river bank opposite a young stag wandered, nosed about in the thin snow and then pawed it up for the grass beneath. Suddenly it was startled and leaped away. Glorfindel dropped to the ground, cursing under his breath for a moment's inattentiveness. But then an eagle cried far above and circled and he saw that the deer had been frightened by the bird.

Glorfindel settled the horses, ignoring Niphredil's flat-back ears and flattened nostrils, and dug a small fire pit, built a fire and began cooking the unfortunate rabbit. Glorfindel thought that the greater skill of Legolas' shooting would have yielded them more, and the greater skill of Amron's cooking would have made it tastier. But it was edible. He tasted it lightly and added a little salt from the pouch Erestor had left with him.

However by the time Erestor returned, the rabbit was overdone and Glorfindel had already eaten his share. He had stripped the meat from the bones and thrown the carcass far from the camp so the foxes could eat and they would not be disturbed in the night. But Ithil was high by the time he heard a cheery whistle and Erestor came striding towards him.

'Where have you been?' He winced at the irritation in his own voice. 'I was wondering if I would have to come and find you.'

Erestor gave him an enormously wide smile and plonked himself gracelessly down next to the fire. He reached out and pulled the shredded meat towards himself, tore off a hunk of bread and flipped open the wine flask in his saddlebag. He took a great long gulp before he finally lifted it and smacked his lips showily, shoved it towards Glorfindel and then devoured the meat hungrily. When he raised his face again to Glorfindel, there was grease around his mouth and wine stains on his lips.

'You are as bad as Legolas,' Glorfindel observed. 'He too has the manners of an Orc.'

Erestor smiled delightedly. 'Really? I am pleased to hear it. There are too many tales that Woodelves nibble delicately on nuts and fruit, don't eat meat and sip wine. I have never been able to reconcile that with what I know of Thranduil. And certainly not Oropher!'

Glorfindel waited patiently whilst Erestor ate his fill and carelessly tossed a thigh bone into the bushes behind the camp, followed with an apple and threw the core in the other direction. Eventually he leaned back on one elbow, and stretched out his long legs. Glorfindel quashed his irritation because he knew Erestor would enjoy that and instead said as mildly as he could, 'Well?' and then, because he knew Erestor would tease, he said, 'Where have you been and what have you been doing?' so he tied Erestor down to proper answers and not wordplay.

'I went to look at the Tower,' Erestor replied and Glorfindel swallowed a gasp; he was back, he was safe. He did not need to protest, it was too late anyway.

Erestor narrowed one eye and looked appraisingly at Glorfindel. 'You are very sanguine,' he observed. Then he said, 'It is yet many leagues and I merely saw it in the far distance but even then it reeks of Nazgûl. It may have even been a refuge for them, an easy place to ride out from in their hunt for the One. Darkness swathes it. I am sure Legolas is...well, maybe not completely right in that Rhawion's fëa is trapped there...but it is an evil place.'

Glorfindel looked away. If Rhawion was trapped there, it was his fault; he had been so anxious and determined to get them all away as quickly as possible. He had given no thought to what Legolas had claimed, merely dismissed it as a delusion. He should have gone back...

'I hope you are not indulging in recrimination.' Erestor interrupted his thoughts and Glorfindel wondered how in the Heavens he had guessed. He glanced up with a wry smile.

'How did you know?'

'My dear Laurëfindë, how could you not? You are one of the most conscientious and honourable people I have ever known. Certainly the most honourable person in the…what are we now? The Third Age?' There was humour in his eyes as he added, 'You cannot of course equal Maedhros and Maglor whose integrity stands above anyone's. Ever,' he said with a trace of defiance that had never quite been quelled. 'But all those others, you easily outmatch.'

Glorfindel felt vaguely and bewilderingly flattered. He was never quite comfortable with the Fëanorian references with which Erestor liked to smatter his conversations; it was as if he wanted to brandish his old loyalties in the faces of those whose kin they had slaughtered and betrayed, as if he never wanted to let anyone forget them. It left Glorfindel with the same old confused admiration and loathing for them that he had always had. But saying something would merely give Erestor something to spar with so he said nothing.

'I suggest we do not go into the Tower in the darkness,' Erestor continued unnecessarily, for Glorfindel had no intention of doing that, pulling his blanket over his shoulder and settling down to rest. 'Will you take the first watch?'

'It seems I already am,' Glorfindel commented drily as Erestor grinned at him and wriggled until he was comfortable.

Briefly Glorfindel wondered what Erestor dreamed for he was asleep so quickly and he did not move all through Glorfindel's watch and had a pleased smile on his face throughout.

When it came to Erestor's watch, Glorfindel did not rest so well; his own thoughts drifted constantly to Gondolin, and took him on the secret paths to the Cristhorn*, where there awaited him Shadow and Flame...He slept fitfully and whenever he awoke he saw in the firelight Erestor staring at a knife he held between his fingers, carefully as if its bite were to be feared.

At last he sat up, no longer trying to find a pleasant dream. He pushed his long hair out of his eyes and blinked. Erestor was sitting, leaning back against a tree, his amber eyes watched Glorfindel thoughtfully and the knife he held, Glorfindel realised, was unfamiliar. For some reason, Glorfindel shivered.

'I wondered what you dreamed,' Erestor said, slanting his eyes at Glorfindel. 'Was it the Valarauko*'

Only Erestor would dare intrude so, thought Glorfindel, but he nodded anyway. There was no point hiding anything.

'Does it plague you often?'

'No,' Glorfindel said shortly, hoping that would finish the conversation, but he should have known better.

'I remember, at the Pass of Aglon,' Erestor said conversationally. 'Glaurung* roaring across the plains. It was enough to make me piss myself...in fact I even think I did. But there were Valarauki and Orcs and ... other things I cannot name even now.' Erestor yawned, as if such things were a common occurrence. 'Of course by that time I was well used to Orcs and Balrogs, but not the dragons. I never got used to the quiet before they struck.'

Glorfindel knew what he meant. There had been no warning in Gondolin. It had been such a still day, sun warm on the stone. Water splashing in the fountains. There were fountains in every square, on every corner in Gondolin. He stopped himself from remembering because Erestor was watching him sharply, and instead he casually threw more kindling onto the fire.

'I think of that day on Aglon,' Erestor continued, watching the kindling catch and burn. 'I almost ran. Only Maedhros kept us onwards by his will alone. He was invincible that day, burning with such hate and fury they dared not meet him and we dared not leave him.' Erestor's lips curved in a smile and he looked down at the dagger he held lightly between his fingers. 'You know, I think he would have fought his way to Morgoth with his bare hands and alone. But I like to think that he had learned from Fingolfin's folly.'

'And Fëanor's too,' Glorfindel bit back. He did not ask if Erestor had also pissed himself at Doriath, or Sirion for he caught a sly smile on Erestor's face and would be goaded no further. It seemed Erestor's undeclared ambition was to well and truly rile Glorfindel though Glorfindel would not give in. So he took a deep breath and forced himself to calm. 'The Past seems to have caught us both in its web,' he said instead, knowing his calm would irritate Erestor even more than Erestor irritated him. 'And it is intruding too much on the present,' he finished.

It seemed that Erestor realised he would get no more from Glorfindel too for he was silent for a moment, turning the dagger this way and that, looking at it carefully. It did not catch the light. 'I too worry that Curumo* knows too much of our defence, our strength, he said thoughtfully. 'He knows Ash Nazg is in Imladris surely?'

Glorfindel frowned. 'He was in all our council.' He leaned slightly forwards to look at the knife; it was not the one Erestor usually carried, he mused. Suddenly he was very cold, all thoughts of Saruman forgotten for he recognised the nature of the blade. 'You have brought that with you?' he asked. He could not keep the outrage from his voice.

Erestor looked up. He held the knife carefully between his fingers, but he did not twirl it between his fingers as he normally did. 'Elrond thought I should for some reason. Only now is it becoming clear,' he said thoughtfully.

Glorfindel snorted in disgust. 'You will forgive me if I do not believe you?' he said coldly. 'For I cannot imagine in any circumstance that you should carry a Morgul blade!'

Erestor smiled then, and for the first time ever in their long acquaintance, Glorfindel thought the tales could be true about Erestor. 'Which is it? That you do not believe Elrond told me to bring it or that it is becoming clear why I have brought it?' he asked and his thin lips curled upwards in a typical sardonic smile.

'Both,' Glorfindel said flatly. "It is not in the least beyond you, Erestor, to take it upon yourself to steal it, and it is not beyond your arrogance to believe that you can wield it.'

Anyone else would have protested but Erestor put his hand on his heart and bowed his head slightly. 'You flatter me,' was all he said.

'That is not even the one wielded by Angmar. Aragorn only brought the hilt,' he said even more angry now. 'Where is this one from?' He was outraged.

'Oh, I think this must be the one Radagast brought from Dol Guldûr.' Erestor was nonchalant but his eyes gleamed. 'You remember when the White Council was finally persuaded to act? It was because they had proof. Finally.' Glorfindel remembered it well, for it was the day that Saruman had finally agreed that the White Council had cause to fear the Necromancer.

'Elrond or someone must have dropped it,' Erestor said, firelight glinting in his eyes. 'And I did not want Curumo to have it.'

0o0o

Even while they rode the next day, Glorfindel could think of little else but the Morgul blade and he kept glancing towards Erestor. It was lunacy to even touch it, designed as it was to shear the fëa from the hroa. What in Manwë's name did Erestor think he was doing?

'I wish you had not brought that thing,' he said mildly, knowing better than to ask more for Erestor would delight in being evasive or giving outrageous answers than merely sought to goad Glorfindel into fury. 'It only needs the slightest nick for you to become houseless.'

Erestor gave him a strange, oblique glance that he could not read but it felt knowing, subtle as Erestor always was.

'You know something more,' Glorfindel said irritably. 'And I suppose you have no intention of sharing that knowledge.'

Erestor did not answer for at that moment, Asfaloth snorted and shied at a deer that leapt suddenly from the scrubby trees and Niphredil too shied violently, almost throwing Erestor and all thoughts of the Morgul blade fled.

'Elbereth's tits!' Erestor swore and Glorfindel shook his head in disapproval. 'Fucking deer! You'd think it would avoid us, not throw itself at us.'

Glorfindel slowed Asfaloth cautiously. Erestor was right; that deer had been fleeing something. He brought Asfaloth to a halt and listened. Last time he was here, Orcs had been lurking and he had not known until it was too late; it had cost him dearly, losing Rhawion and almost losing Legolas to the lhach-rhaw. And despite his irritating nature, he did not want to lose Erestor.

He glanced over to his companion and saw that Niphredil was busily, greedily cropping the short grass and Erestor was nowhere to be seen.

'Moringhotto Bauglir!' Glorfindel swore himself now and urged Asfaloth beneath the branches of the trees and into cover. He slid down from the horse and drew his sword, crouching and searching the trees anxiously. Niphredil raised his head briefly and gave Glorfindel a brief, condescending look and then let his head fall back to the grass again. Glorfindel stilled himself, opened himself up to listen, to feel…

A breath on his neck made him jerk around and he came face to face with Erestor who was suddenly right behind him as if he had simply materialized. 'Nothing to be afraid of,' Erestor said with irritating jauntiness and tapped Glorfindel's sword disrespectfully. 'Just a spooked deer – probably your clumsy great horse crashing around. Best put that away before you cut yourself.'

Glorfindel seethed but he was determined not to show it and forced himself to smile thinly. 'I suppose, it is good that the Nazgûl have not got you...yet.' He jammed his foot into the stirrup and swung astride Asfaloth once more, wishing it had been anyone but Erestor who had joined him on this trip.

But who else remembers fair Gondolin…

The thought was so clear in his head that he looked up at Erestor to reply. But Erestor was already ahead of him, and his horse was taking long, easy strides along the narrowing trail. He did not glance back.

But Glorfindel wished that Legolas had been with them, for his senses were attuned to his environment in a way that the Noldor were not and Glorfindel had a nagging sense that the deer had been frightened by something.

They covered the miles more quickly then and soon the ruined tower raised itself like a fang above the tree line and Erestor paused and waited for Glorfindel. They did not speak but Glorfindel felt the overwhelming sadness for what had been lost; Ost-in-Edhel had been a beautiful city and Phellanthir no less fair. Not Gondolin of course, but it had indeed been full of fountains and tall, elegant spires. And Celebrimbor was nothing like his mad and dangerous kin. Indeed Glorfindel had thought him most un-Fëanorian in anything but his striking looks…until he had allowed Annatar in. That too, was un-Fëanorian for not one of the sons of Fëanor would have been so beguiled. Least of all Maedhros whom he most resembled.

He glanced at Erestor, thinking how he would mourn, for he had not seen Phellanthir since its last days; he had almost deliberately avoided the ruined Elven cities, hardly surprisingly. Erestor had known those cities well, had rubbed shoulders with the greatest in these cities, had been close to Celebrimbor …and could not bear the thought of his dreadful, tortured death. He wondered what Erestor saw now as they looked upon the haunted and ruined tower, and felt a squeeze of sorrow in his heart.

A mist lay across the water margins and fens that surrounded the old Elven city where once elegant ships had rested on smooth water that had been like silver-blue silk for the harbor was so skillfully engineered. That harbour wall was only evident now in the huge chunks of masonry and granite blocks that lay half submerged in the shallow marshes. An old anchor lay on its side in mud and silt, crumbling with rust. Somewhere a curlew cried and its haunting loneliness made the hairs stand up on Glorfindel's neck. His hand fell to the pommel of this sword instinctively and he thought again of the spooked deer.

Erestor was already sliding from his tall black horse and unbuckling the girth of the saddle.

He glanced back at Glorfindel. 'I am not taking Niphredil into that place. It will upset him.' The said horse snapped at Erestor and flattened his ears ungratefully but Glorfindel paused. He did not like to leave Asfaloth out of here in the environs of Phellanthir but he accepted too that the ruined city was no place for horses.

In the thin winter sunlight this was a strange and haunted place. Glorfindel had thought that when he had stood with Legolas, was it really only days before? And Rhawion had still lived. He felt a cinching in his chest, a tightness that had nothing to do with the still, cold air that settled around them like freezing. Asfaloth's head was right up and his ears forward and Glorfindel saw that Erestor's bad-natured horse had done the same.

Suddenly Niphredil shook his head and started, swinging his hind quarters around and almost trampling upon Erestor. Both horses backed nervously and even Asfaloth pulled away a little.

'Very well,' Glorfindel said soothingly to Asfaloth. 'Run free for a while and listen for me. Come when I need you.'

He pulled the saddle from his horse and lay it carefully behind a fallen tree, covered it with ivy and ferns. Asfaloth dipped his head for the bridle to be removed and gave him an affectionate and concerned bump with his nose. Glorfindel rubbed his forehead reassuringly. 'Go, find grass and water and keep away from that bad tempered nag!' he murmured.

'Stay close to Asfaloth,' Glorfindel heard Erestor say to his grumpy beast. 'And come back this time. Don't just go home.' Niphredil shook his head and waggled his ears back and forth. His nostrils wrinkled and he flattened his ears back and snapped at his rider. Erestor laughed delightedly and rubbed his nose. 'Go on, my sweet thing. Off you go.' He dumped his saddle and threw the bridle carelessly next to Glorfindel's but at least it was hidden that way, thought Glorfindel.

The 'sweet thing' had already turned its back on the two Elves and was charging off, kicking up mud which splattered over Glorfindel's cloak. He closed his eyes and counted slowly, trying not to lose his legendary calm. When he opened his eyes he just caught the edge of Erestor's sly smile and had to clench his fists then so as not to bite. It was what Erestor wanted and he would not oblige.

'I think we should explore the tower now and then retreat when night falls,' Glorfindel said, brushing his cloak clean. He kept his face impassive, calm and began to count to one hundred as he had heard Gimli do when Legolas irritated him.

Since the seismic falling of the Tower last time he had been there, the broken road had all but dissolved into the marsh and looked more like an old causeway than ever. The citadel was all that was left and that was merely a rocky outcrop amongst the desolate marshes now, and the Tower that had once surveyed the reaches of Eregion had been ripped apart by the storm was more like a crag. The recent past made it even more haunted and desolate. And Glorfindel felt a sudden foreboding.

He clasped Erestor's shoulder. 'Do not enter the Tower, Erestor. There is very much evil that will befall us should we enter.'

Erestor turned his amber eyes towards Glorfindel and it seemed that were filled with light, like he had beheld some great wonder and Glorfindel stared.

'Do you forget Rhawion then?' the Fëanorian replied and he turned back and strode ahead of Glorfindel, the dimming light shining on his black hair.

Glorfindel dipped his gaze and closed his eyes; he had, for a moment of breathless fear, indeed forgotten. But he would no sooner leave Rhawion in this terrible haunted place than have turned his back on the Balrog and fled.

He followed Erestor and the two Elves entered the broken gates of Phellanthir.

0o0o0o

Cristhorn – Where Glorfindel fought the Balrog and defeated it, but met his own death

Valarauko – Quenya for Balrog

Glaurung – the greatest dragon of all- destroyed Gondolin.

Curumo – Saruman


	2. Chapter 2 The Citadel

**Thanks to all those who reviewed. **

**Beta: The incomparable Anarithilien.**

**Chapter 2: The Citadel**

The city was even more ruined after the seismic storm the night Rhawion died. The rumbling earth had dislodged great chunks of granite walls that had fallen and smashed into what were once narrow streets below, crumbling into scree and clitter, which they had to clamber over or turn back. There was light snow on the iron-cold rocks and the air had turned bitterly chill.

Great coils of dark ivy, frosted with the cold of winter, looped over ruined archways. It smothered old doorways so they looked like eye sockets watching the two elves as they passed. Glorfindel was unafraid but even he felt a sinister watchfulness about the place. It was desolate. Abandoned. Not even rooks cawing in the ruined towers or even the tracks of deer stepping quietly along narrow frosted paths. Nothing came here now but the Nazgûl and Glorfindel did not know what drew them hence.

Above them was the Tower, brooding and malicious and he kept glancing upwards

…_A great winged dragon soared, flame burst from its open maw and blasted stone to rubble, melted the bejeweled heights__…_

No! He shook himself. This was not Gondolin. This was not Maeglin's treachery but Annatar's betrayal of Celebrimbor. Dragons did not belong in _this_ life. *

Erestor led him unerringly along narrow stone paths that wound between huge boulders and scree that piled up hard against the old citadel wall. Ravens no longer nested amongst the crags that had once been battlements. One huge and ancient holly tree had fallen across an old doorway and its glossy leaves proved a more impenetrable defence than any stone.

'This is the great door to the citadel.' Erestor wrapped his cloak around him to protect him from the dense prickles. 'You would almost think the tree has fallen across deliberately to prevent anyone going in,' he grumbled. But they had no Woodelf with them to tell them if this were true and he pushed through the first thick branches and pulled the hood down over his face to protect him a little from the sharp leaves.

There was nothing further to bar their way for any defences had long ago been breached by Sauron's treachery and they found themselves in a long tunnel that went beneath the citadel wall. It was very cold and the tunnel stretched away into darkness that echoed their footsteps back to them.

Glorfindel paused for a moment, listening; he felt his chest tighten, and in spite of the cold the air was too still and the sense of being watched too strong.

Erestor turned his strange amber eyes upon Glorfindel. They glittered in the dark like some unseen light reflected in them. 'Not scared, surely, my Laurëlindë? All that is here are ghosts.'

Glorfindel clenched his teeth and began counting backwards from one hundred, very slowly. It was something he had noticed Gimli did when Legolas was being particularly irritating. It was beginning to lose its potency however and Glorfindel found himself having to count for longer and longer. It was taking him to fifty now.

'The Nazgûl are not just ghosts,' he snapped. 'And they are not the only danger. We are here alone. In the Wild and very far from home.'

He saw a flash of white that could have been Erestor's teeth and he gritted his own and followed Erestor into the suffocating dark. A cold wind blew lightly through the tunnel but it was ice and in spite of his own fearlessness, the hairs on Glorfindel's neck slowly stood on end.

'There is more here than ghosts,' he said slowly. 'Nazgûl or other.'

"Come,' said Erestor and there was a touch of nostalgia in his voice. He beckoned Glorfindel on. 'It is the resonance of Power you feel. Although this was the third city of Eregion and Ost-in-Edhel greater by far, this was still a lovely place once. The centre of learning in the West.'

Erestor walked on slowly. 'This tunnel was once lit with dimmed Fëanorian lamps made of green malachite.' he continued. 'It was like walking in a dense wood lit from outside by sunlight. Celebrimbor designed so you walked in the deepness of the woods, like the Unbegotten and then emerged into light of knowledge, of the Noldor. He wanted it to be a little like Menegroth.' He looked around but the dark pressed upon them, and Glorfindel wondered whether he should be more outraged at a Fëanorian wishing to re-create an aspect of Menegroth or Erestor's winsome memory of it*.

Something fluttered against Glorfindel's hair and he thought it was a bat. He felt it brush again though and it was too slow, too light for a bat.

'A moth?' Erestor said wonderingly. 'Surely it is too dark and too cold for you, little friend?' The moth fluttered around them for a moment, perhaps drawn by the warmth and light of the elves for it was bitterly cold and utterly dark in the tunnel but Erestor drew Glorfindel onwards. Ahead of them was thin grey light that grew as they approached, and Glorfindel could see that there were indeed cavities scored in the sides of the tunnel walls where had been the bronze and copper torches holding those green Fëanorian lamps, long since plundered.

They emerged into a wide cavernous hall. Thin light slanted from cracks in the granite above, rough like cracks formed in the igneous rock and thick ivy crept like dark fingers between the cracks and for a moment Glorfindel imagined that they were pulling the cracks further apart, slowly tearing down the last ruins of a once great city. But Glorfindel knew it was the tower itself that had cracked apart, if not under the dreadful siege of Sauron upon Phellanthir all those centuries ago, then from the terrible storm drawn down by the Nazgûl when he had fled with Legolas and Rhawion. In the thin light, everything was grey, cloaked in thick dust like veils.

Erestor turned to Glorfindel conversationally. Almost as if he had heard Glorfindel's thoughts, and perhaps he had, thought Glorfindel.

'Those are not cracks. They were huge slanting shafts cut into the stone. Celebrimbor had returned from Moria and seen Khazad-dûm. He could not stop talking about it. When he had this hall built, the light poured in and reflected in hundreds, maybe thousands of crystals and precious gems, molten and swirled through mithril and silver. The floor itself is crystal…' He paused for a moment. 'Or was.'

He sighed and turned his face upwards to the cold light. 'You have no idea how it felt standing here. A temple of light. He spent years designing lamps to rival and outshine Narvi's.' Glorfindel looked up at the cracked stone roof. He could see now that it had been crafted; it was too smooth to be natural. 'They enjoyed the competition,' Erestor continued and Glorfindel realised he spoke still of Narvi and Celebrimbor.

Erestor paused beneath the great domed roof, looking upwards and Glorfindel walked slowly behind him…He saw the great hall as it had been

…_…__And the graceful pillars that held the smooth vaulted roof were inlaid with the richest colour and he saw that they were precious stones that were molten and somehow swirled and traced into the crystal__…__Huge F__ë__anorian lamps of silver chased with mithril set with sapphires hung from the domed ceiling and the light poured into the chamber through the lamps onto the crystal floor. Beneath his feet was smooth crystal so it did indeed feel like he was walking on light, floating in starlight__…_

_I have not seen this_, Glorfindel thought bemused. And he knew it was Erestor's memory.

_…__The great chamber filled with golden light and jewels glowing in the light. Upon the walls were great silk hangings and richly worked tapestries showing the great works of the Noldor smiths. He knew that these silks and tapestries and wonderful carpets had been brought as gifts from the kings and potentates of the furthest Eastern kingdoms._

Erestor's voice was distant. 'It was a wonderful sight. And the smells…fragrances in the air were beyond imagining. Those were the Silk Halls.' He waved his hand towards a distant wall and Glorfindel realised that there were a number of smaller chambers leading off from this main one. 'You could get little ivory pieces, carved exquisitely. They would make you Strategy pieces if you had enough gold. I got a set for Elrond here…think he still has most of them.'

Glorfindel knew the set he meant; it was made of strange animals instead of the Valar and one piece was missing, a mumâk.

'It was so much more exciting here in Eregion than Mithlond,' Erestor continued. 'I actually thought about quitting Gil-Galad's service and pledging myself to Celebrimbor, not that he wanted me really- but perhaps he needed me.' He stepped carefully through the thick dust as he walked slowly through the huge empty hall. His voice did not echo for the dust muffled sound.

'I tried to persuade Elrond to come south,' he said conversationally as if they were sitting on the terraces of Imladris rather than treading on the edge of danger. ''There were people from the south here, and from far eastern kingdoms. They all came up river from Umbar to trade. Dwarves too. Everywhere. The smith-craft of Khazad-dûm was a wonder, now anything made by Narvi is priceless…Cirdan had a necklace. Mithril wire with pearls and emeralds. A lovely thing. Did you ever see it? When you arrived on these shores?'

Glorfindel found himself nodding, and taking out a memory of the piece, lovingly as if he handled the necklace itself…_fastening it around the elegant throat of Mirlien, Cirdan__'__s lovely daughter__…_

He frowned. He had not done that; _wound her hair about his fist and kissed her neck__…_

Glorfindel shook himself, suddenly aware of his surroundings.

…_She had pulled him down upon her and pressed herself against him__…_

No. She had definitely not done that, thought Glorfindel. Cirdan's daughter was a lovely woman, rare as a pearl and as unravished as he, for he was pure in all things…

…_Except that one time. Rich golden hair__…__the colour of old coins__…__eyes barely seeing him, so lost in grief__…__His own mouth on that warm and generous mouth, stopping the grief even for a moment__…_

He shook himself. Where had that thought come from? Long suppressed and best forgotten.

But still he jerked when he saw Erestor smile and incline his caught a gleam in Erestor's amber eyes and the counselor gave a slow, knowing smile.

'What are you grinning at?' he demanded more aggressively than was warranted, but he could not help it.

'I am merely smiling,' Erestor said irritatingly and then cocked his head slightly and his eyes were bright, curious as a magpie. 'What has riled you so?'

'You know what!' Glorfindel said through clenched teeth. 'I am thinking things and seeing memories that are not my own.'

Y_ou are seeing my memories as I am seeing yours._ Erestor smiled again, but more sadly than taunting.

'You are seeing nothing of mine,' Glorfindel answered defiantly and ruthlessly shut down, suppressed, locked up all memories of his time before and since his return.

'That is a pity. I was enjoying that.' Erestor grinned wolfishly.

Glorfindel ground his teeth and determinedly imagined himself punching Erestor hard on the jaw, tying him up and leaving him for the Nazgûl. _Make what you will of that! _he thought.

But Erestor merely smiled and slid his gaze back to the empty chamber. Full of ghosts. Full of memory.

Ice stole into the air and he thought frost would soon coat everything in a silver sheen.

But the cold was not a memory. It stiffened the hairs on his scalp, he felt it prickling against his collar and in his hand was his sword, _Eruvator__ë__, _already unsheathed and he wondered how long he had stood like this. Erestor watched him, as if waiting. The thin grey light was almost dissolving now into dusk.

'Ah, my friend,' said Erestor with sudden and uncharacteristic gentleness. 'I think you have begun to realise the power of this place. This was Celebrimbor's _Oromarde-Curv__ë__.__'_

Glorfindel frowned. _Oromarde, _literally High Hall, but the word was used to describe a temple's inner sanctum and he had never heard it used to describe a place of _Curv__ë _before. This side of the Sea there were few temples for the Noldor did not worship the Valar as did the Vanyar in Aman and he was certain the silvan elves had no such thing. He wondered what Celebrimbor had been thinking to call his citadel a temple of knowledge. Had it been Curufin or any one of his uncles, Glorfindel would guess at it being ironic, but he remembered Celebrimbor in Nevrast; there was a different intensity, an earnestness that was more Fëanor than Curufin. And his thirst for knowledge was more like Maedhros, Glorfindel admitted grudgingly. He did not doubt Erestor though, for he had been without question, a spy. If there was anyone left alive who knew what had been going on, it was he…And Annatar. Sauron.

'Celebrimbor played with _Orma _here beyond anything anyone before had even imagined.' His voice was strange, as if coming from a long way away. 'Matter, physics, is different here…' His amber eyes flicked up to Glorfindel's and he smiled indulgently. 'You can call what he did Magic, _curu,_ if it makes you happier, Glorfindel.'

'It does not make me happy,' Glorfindel replied and sheathed his sword. He looked around warily. The emptiness and silence was preying on him, he knew, and if he were honest, the recent past and the encounter in the Tower had unnerved him. He was not afraid of the Nazgûl, although he was no fool; fear was not their only weapon and he and Erestor were made of flesh and blood and could be slain.

'He experimented here…' Erestor walked slowly through the dim, silent hall. 'He was using the same curvë that made the Palantri, and Galadriel's Mirror. I do not know what he was making, nor the nature of his experiment. But the last time I was here, there was a strangeness…like everything had become…stretched. Almost dreamlike at certain times. It was like Lothlorien has become with Galadriel's use of Nenya.' He looked down as if thinking for a moment. 'Time was different. It passed slowly… sometimes it seemed the air trembled and there were apparitions… Visions… of the past and the future. Like the Palantri and the Mirrors. Celebrimbor was interested in _Nirm__ë _and something he called _Tumnal__ó__m__ë__.__'_

He glanced at Glorfindel and then said patiently, 'He was experimenting with how to use it to open Time… like in the Palantir, or the Mirror.'

Glorfindel had heard of _Nirm__ë_ of course, and _Tumnal__ó__m__ë_; you could not spend so much time in the company of Elrond and Erestor, and sometimes Mithrandir, without absorbing knowledge of the arcane _curv__ë_ of the ancient days, and he was no longer so naive to believe that everything was down to the Power of the Valar.

Erestor stopped and glanced upwards. The roof was swathed in darkness and they could not see how high it was, but ahead of them was a mouth of utter silence, utter darkness. His eyes gleamed and Glorfindel saw in them, the thirst too for knowledge, for _curv__ë__. _Erestor smiled then, a subtle smile that was knowing. 'Have you ever looked into a Palantir or a Mirror and seen the threads of Time unravel?'

Indeed Glorfindel had. Once he had looked into a Palantir. Ah, so long ago. Another age. He would never forget the shock of seeing another face appear, and speak. That one time it had been Maedhros, his hair bronze and his once-lovely features blurred and a little indistinct but his voice clear as Telperion's light, and as rich… Asking…No. In his subtle and persuasive way, _commanding_ Turgon to come out of his mountain sanctuary and take up arms against Morgoth in the dreadful battle that became the Nirnaeth Arnoediad. Glorfindel had admired Maedhros then…Forged into steel by his dreadful ordeal in Angband, bending the Noldor to his will through subtle and careful tempering, holding to his will alone his mad, beautiful brothers…It was the Tears that broke him.

He became aware of Erestor's intense gaze, almost greedy, and felt his memory probed, delved. He turned away appalled at Erestor's shameless and greedy invasion.

'Stop it,' he said quietly.

'You cannot blame me.' Erestor's voice was full of longing. 'It is so long since I saw his dear face. To see him as others did is a rare morsel. How can you begrudge me?'

'You do not ask.' But that was not why. Glorfindel could not bear the desperation, the terrible loss. It was too close to his own.

'You would deny me.'

That was true. 'Do not look again.'

Erestor turned away suddenly and Glorfindel felt almost as though he had been leaning against something that had given under him. He blinked and breathed in sharply. It was this place, he thought. Too like Lorien for him, with its strange ethereal quality, too like a dream and unreal. If Celebrimbor had been playing with _Tumnal__ó__m__ë__, _that would explain the strange merging of memories and dreams.

Deep shadows gathered in the corners and along the edges of the hall, creeping forwards as the thin grey light slowly dimmed, as if they were waiting for the darkness to fall. And the last watery rays of the sun touched the old stone in silence, slid up into the deep cracks that had once been the rival of Moria. Frost drifted on the cold air then and Glorfindel shivered.

'It is cold now the sun has gone,' Erestor said abruptly and he too shivered slightly.

It was then that Glorfindel felt it.

A stroke of cold down his spine.

'Erestor,' he hissed. 'They are here.'

If he thought Erestor would not hear, he was wrong. Instantly Erestor was at his side, amber eyes gleaming. 'Not _they_. Not yet. _It _has been near for some time,' he grinned and it was chilling to see how gleeful he was and how quickly his loss forgotten. Not for the first time, Glorfindel wondered if his companion was a little mad. 'Let us see what it is so keen to keep from us.'

Glorfindel was not afraid, but he was first and foremost a warrior. And no warrior would go into battle unprepared or weaponless. 'What do we do if we find anything?' he asked warily.

'I do not know.'

He should have been less surprised, for this was far from the first time Erestor had led him into mortal danger without a shred of reason or plan. Nevertheless, it was always worth asking again. In case he had actually thought of something. 'There is nothing in the libraries of Imladris, nothing you read in Mithlond, in Himring? Nothing?'

'Well if I could somehow flick through all the tomes and scripts, all the references to Úlairi ever written, I might find something,' Erestor snapped.

'I am surprised that one of your great Fëanorians has not invented something that would enable you to do so!' Glorfindel snapped back. 'It seems they invented everything else you could possibly want; seeing stones, stones that hold light, stones that heal…anything to do with stone. Why not a stone that can read for you?'

'You are ignorant, Glorfindel. Astonishingly so. Locked up in your mountain for all those centuries. What were you lot doing apart from eating and drinking and growing soft.'

He ignored that barb and imagined Erestor trussed up and howling as Glorfindel left him for the Nazgûl.

There was a gleam of white; Erestor must have smiled then, thought Glorfindel.

'You are not afraid of one Nazgûl surely?'

Glorfindel sighed. 'No. But they are not merely wraiths. They can wield weapons. Like that bloody blade you have in your pocket!'

'Oh that. I had almost forgotten.' So casual.

Erestor suddenly strode off into the absolute darkness and Glorfindel followed more in irritation than in fear of losing his companion.

It was dark as pitch and the darkness pressed upon his eyes, Glorfindel thought the smell changed, the air was dank and there was something rotting rather than simply the smell of a deep place. It slicked his mouth, coated it like the smell of death, of putrefying meat.

He could barely see Erestor ahead of him and suddenly he stumbled and swore, for he stubbed his foot on something hard. He whispered to Erestor to stop. 'We can hardly see where we are going!' he whispered angrily.

Erestor was suddenly in front of him and his hand was over Glorfindel's mouth. 'Hush. Listen.'

He froze. Listened. Could hear…nothing.

Blinked. Shook his head frowning and then realised Erestor could not possibly see. 'I cannot…' he began to whisper but Erestor's hand was back over his mouth.

'Hush.' Even softer, his hand pressed hard against Glorfindel's lips.

He stilled absolutely. Opened his senses to the cold, dank air and then felt it rather than heard…

Far off, a distant sound. Not quite distinguishable from the silence. He could not place it. Had no word for it but it chilled his soul. No. That was not right either… It tore at him, with pity. Oh the pity of it!

He grasped Erestor's arm and tugged at him. "What is it?'

'I do not know. I have never heard anything like it…but is it not terrible and sad? And in pain perhaps?' He paused and then said, 'I think we will find it up this stairway, for this is the heart of the citadel.'

Glorfindel was aware then that Erestor stood slightly above him and that he had stubbed his foot on the bottom stair of a wide sweeping steps. He prodded it with his foot and felt for the next step upwards.

'You could at least warn me of the step!' he hissed. Erestor did not reply but Glorfindel felt his hand being taken by Erestor's warm one and tugged gently. Grateful that at least he knew they were ascending, he followed.

The pitiful cry did not come again, but he thought he heard a whimper like an animal in pain and misery. But then all was silence.

Darkness pressed against their eyes. As they followed the steps upwards, it seemed almost to thicken and felt cold and heavy against him. Glorfindel found himself wishing he did not have to breathe for it felt that the Dark was entering his body and would suffocate him from within. He remembered how Legolas had spoken of the dark coiling about him, a serpent, and as if the thought had taken shape, he thought how it insinuated itself almost between his ankles and thighs, and pressed itself against him. Like a live thing.

There was a slide of something leathery in the shadows. A slow drift of colder air across his neck.

Glorfindel froze. He felt Erestor do likewise.

Far off, deep in the bowels of the Tower was a rumble like far off thunder. And then that strange trembling cry once again. Misery and pain…and despair.

Then nothing…..

He felt Erestor tug slightly at his sleeve and edged towards him. In the pitch dark, his blade gleamed slightly but it was still silver, not blue. No Orcs then…but there was a dull green-ish edge to the blade that he had only seen rarely…but each time it had indicated the presence of the wraiths. He saw that Erestor too had drawn his blade and it gleamed the same eerie light.

'That sound is no Nazgûl.' He felt rather than saw Erestor nod.

'I think we have found what we came for.'

'So Legolas was right. Rhawion is still here.'

0o0o

* Dragons destroyed Gondolin in Glorfindel's previous life.

* Menegroth was the old name for Doriath, which the Fëanorians invaded to reclaim a Silmaril. Erestor would believe they had the right and Glorfindel believes that any killing of other elves is wrong whatever the reason, justified or otherwise.

_Tumnal__ó__m__ë__ - Hidden Power. _Celebrimbor would have been without question, knowledgeable about Quantum Mechanics in my verse. In ME the Mirror and Palantri had been made for thousands of years before this time. To me, there is the idea of QM behind both of these artifacts.


	3. Chapter 3 Nazgûl

Enormous thanks go to Anarithilien as always for her generous and brilliant editing, and Spiced Wine who has generously lent me a scene from Dark Star, which is a glorious spin-off of Sons of Thunder but with her own gorgeous and heady mix. And to both for the great discussions we are having about quantum mechanics - which are just richly bewildering.

**Chapter 3: Nazgûl.**

Ahead of them, the air shifted and seemed to part lightly, to thin. A prick of dim light was ahead of them in the gloom, and high, high above the wind soughed very softly; Glorfindel could almost believe there were still the remains of tattered banners or the silks of which Erestor had spoken. But that was impossible- it was _thousands_ of years since these halls had been inhabited.

Something brushed against him.

Cold.

It must be the wind, he told himself, but the smell was familiar… old and empty tombs.

_Because those who should occupy those tombs walk still_. Erestor spoke into his mind, and he agreed.

_I am not afraid of a ghost._

_Nor I._

He drew his sword, and although there was little light in that forsaken place, it shone with its own fire, for had he not fought all Nine and held them at bay so that Frodo could escape? 'I am Glorfindel of Gondolin and Imladris,' he said evenly, neither raising his voice nor softening it. 'Declare yourself.'

Nothing.

He thought he heard a sigh, or it may have been the wind from high up from an unseen shaft.

He took a step forwards, feeling Erestor's warmth nearby. Glorfindel's own blade, _Eruvator__ë__,_ gleamed with an eerie light that told him the Nazgûl was close.

Erestor was not so diffident. 'Come!' he cried aloud. His voice was shocking in the silence. 'Show yourself! Cease this cowering in the darkness.'

_Eruvator__ë_ sent a light flaring against the shadows and for a moment they saw the greatness of the hall, its high roof where once mithril and copper had twined, where the great swirls of azure, emerald, garnets had been melted and curled in immense and fantastical patterns on the marble roof.

'We will not let you pass,' Glorfindel spoke again and he filled his voice with Power so it rang like a clear bell. 'There is a soul at stake and you _will _release it.' He strode forwards then and let a silver light curl along the edges of his blade. It blazed ahead of him and cast bright light to drive back the shadows,

And the darkness suddenly fell back. Ahead of them they saw the ghoul. It was kneeling, looking back over its shoulder at them, something flickering with light in its skeletal hand.

_I do not answer to you, Glorfindel of fallen Gondolin…_

It was a hiss, like the cold wind through the gaps in the ruined walls. The thin black shroud rose slowly and the Nazgûl seemed very tall. In one skeletal hand it had a drawn sword, a great broadsword of iron. Something dangled from the other bony hand, something that struggled, fluttered weakly, like a bird caught by a predator. It was a silver-blue light and fading.

'Then you have forgotten who you were…and now you are _nothing.__' _Erestor's sword scraped from its sheath and it flashed like azure lightning. He swiped the air with his sword for emphasis and it struck blue sparks from the stones. A Fëanorian blade, thought Glorfindel with a start. 'And since you do not know your name, I shall call you…_pitya-angu*_.'

_That is not who I am… _The dark coiled and hissed and the thin black shroud lifted slightly in the cold wind that snapped around the empty chamber.

'That is what you are called now.' Erestor cut the air with his sword and sparks flew. 'I name you Worm.' Then he turned outrageously and walked away from the Nazgûl. 'You are_ nothing.'_

As Erestor walked away, Glorfindel saw him as a shining figure of light. If he had been tall and lean before, if he had been beautiful in a hard and aquiline way, he was even more so now; he was filled with light, fearless, strong, tempered like the glorious sword he carried. It seemed to Glorfindel then that where Erestor walked, he melted a way through the dark, and where he passed there was light and power. The Song was visible in him and colour flooded the air.

But the light attracted Shadows which reached down from the high domed roof, skittered down the walls like spiders and reached out to the blazing light of the elves, like Ungoliant reached for the great fire of the Silmarils. Where the Nazgûl stood there was a greater darkness, Unlight. It sucked all colour, all light, into it and at its edges all was sepia, shadow.

_You underestimate me. Fëanorian. Accursed. Kinslayer._

Erestor stopped a few steps away. 'And you flatter me_.' _He turned on his heel and strode back to meet his foe, swinging his great sword in a circle over his head as he approached the Nazgûl and it seemed that sparks struck from the stones as Erestor walked and he was Fire itself.

'Come, _pitya-angu_. You have something that belongs to Imladris and you will give it back.'

At that very moment, a shriek split the air, filled the cavernous hall so it rang like nails on boards. Glorfindel wanted nothing more than to clap his own hands over his ears, for the screech went on and on and suddenly there was a rush of wind and his cloak was ripped back, pulling round his neck, his hair tugged back. The wind tore round the chamber and seized the shining figure that was Erestor in a whirlwind, spun his hair up into a coil and dragged at his cloak as if it were a fist clenched about his throat. Erestor flung up his sword arm and cut down with a mighty blow, threw his cloak from him and spun on his heel, flourishing his great sword as if it were a mere knife. Sparks flew and he struck the stone, then whirled and cut upwards. More sparks flew as if he had struck metal. The runes on Erestor's sword glowed and became molten, silver words flashed and gleamed and seemed to be left, spelled in the air as it flashed and thrust and cut.

Glorfindel slashed down with his own sword and there was a howl of rage and pain. The shrieking increased, a fever pitch, but Glorfindel was aware too of a strange cry beneath it, like a wounded animal and he turned his gaze for a moment away from the Nazgûl. The pale patch of fading light that the Nazgûl had had clutched in its bony hand seemed to flutter even more like a wounded bird and fade a little more. He glanced at Erestor who was laughing as he fought the Nazgûl.

'Do you think this will make us run?' Erestor was shouting as the wind flung itself away from his fiery blade and screamed around the room and up into the darkness above. Erestor laughed loudly and clanged his sword on the stones. His blade flashed like lightning. 'Glorfindel- I have forgotten. What is the name of Moringhotto's minion?' he cried, panting a little from the fight. 'Does this slave not serve that lesser minion? Mairon? I have forgotten his name now. That lesser god.'

Glorfindel stepped quietly towards the fluttering, wounded light, gently coaxing. _Rhawion?_ he called softly.

There was a screech of fury and he glanced back towards Erestor's shining figure and the wind that screamed around the empty hall caught Erestor's black hair. He flashed his white teeth and whirled the blade upwards once again, cut down on the wind as if it were a limb, and another shower of sparks flew into the darkness. The wind thickened and billowed outwards like smoke, became denser, black and coalesced slowly, thickening until it became one thick column of black, writhing and thrashing like a serpent coiling with terrible speed around Erestor and tightening about his legs, his thighs, his waist.

Erestor flashed Glorfindel a quick glance. _Go! _The word was bright and urgent in Glorfindel's mind and he saw how the light was weakening_._ He hesitated for a moment for the dense smoke was a thick black serpent now, its horrible jaws open and gnashing at Erestor's face. Erestor slashed at it with his bright sword and the serpent writhed and thrashed about and struck at his face again. Unbelievably he laughed and as Glorfindel edged towards the fading light he heard Erestor shouting insults at the Nazgûl.

'Pitya-angu! Why has your master set you to watch this place when you are so _very weak_?'

Glorfindel did not go to Erestor's aid, instead he slowly leaned towards the fluttering light which seemed to scuttle away from his approach. Meanwhile the hideous serpent lashed at Erestor with its fangs and then thrashed back at the blade biting deeply into the dense smoke. A horrible screeching filled the air as the bright sword bit deeply, filled the chamber with light and the snake's shape billowed and changed, dissolved and fled upwards into darkness shrieking so that the echoes filled the cavernous chamber. It seemed to dissipate into the shadows but Glorfindel knew better.

Reaching gently for the shivering light, he softly offered his hand. _It is I, Glorfindel. I have come for you. Come out of this darkness._

For a moment its brightness shone on the palm of his hand and then there was a rush of cold air, a smell like empty tombs. The trembling, weak light fell back, and a thin darkness came between it and Glorfindel.

_You have come for this nîmir? You shall not have him._

Then everything happened at once; there was a scrape of old iron and Erestor shouted at the same time as the fluttering light flared so it seemed to leap at the Nazgûl itself.

Glorfindel felt rather than saw the heavy broadsword descend upon him. He threw his arm upwards and _Eruvator__ë_ smashed against the heavy iron at the same time as the weakening light hurled itself at the empty hood of the Nazgûl. Glorfindel felt the impact of the swords judder all the way up his own arm but he locked blades and shoved the heavy iron sword back hard and heard it ring against the stones. But the Nazgûl itself had retreated furiously into the far reaches of the chamber.

_So you wish to sacrifice yourself for your captain?_

It did not speak to either Erestor or Glorfindel butin its bony hand, the glimmering light struggled weakly. The Nazgûl lifted it and turned its empty hood towards them and they saw reflected by the shivering light, a dreadful face, skin that melted over it and haggard eyes.

_Will this cause your hearts to break?_ The light flared suddenly as if gathering itself for a last terrible struggle and seemed to writhe in the bony hand that held it fast.

Glorfindel surged forwards at the same time as Erestor but too late. The Nazgûl had raised its skeletal hands so it held Rhawion's desperately struggling fëa and was shredding the fluttering light, as if pulling the feathers from a small bird and piece by piece the light fell like dying sparks from a fire, into ash until there was only the bright glowing heart of it. Before they could reach it, the Nazgûl had raised it to the empty hood and the light flickered again over the gaping mouth, open like a serpent's. The Nazgûl swallowed the light. There was a brief flare like a guttering candle and it was gone.

'No!' Glorfindel leapt at the same moment as Erestor and their blades clashed against the Nazgûl. He felt it sink through old iron and the ghoul writhed away from it in fear and agony. Suddenly it sank back and paused for a moment before emptiness.

And it was gone….

Glorfindel's sword fell on empty air, clanged on the stones. His brightness did not dim but intensified for a moment and had they looked around they would have seen a huge Mirror, its obsidian surface reflecting the light, reflecting the high vaulted ceiling with its ghosts of tattered flags and banners. They would have seen strange instruments of gold and bronze, locked by disuse and neglect. They would have seen dust drifting on the surface of the Mirror, like dim light far away but moving closer.

But they were oblivious. Erestor sank to his knees and covered his face. Glorfindel sheathed his sword and looked away. They had failed.

0o0o

In Imladris, Gandalf felt Narya burn suddenly, flare against him, scorch his skin and he cried out.

Instantly Legolas was at his side and his hands reaching out to catch the Wizard.

'Don't fuss, child,' he snapped, unfairly he knew but he could not bother with the niceties of politeness just now.

_Something had happened_. Something significant.

It was not the first time he had ever felt this, but not for many, many years. Not since the end of the Second Age and all in Aman had felt it then. Oh, there had been minor events since then but those had been a mere trembling in the Song as if someone, or something, were about to break it, to wrench apart the delicate threads. But he knew what this was; a fëa had gone from the world. Not just faded; that would not disturb the world. No. This was extinguished. Only an elven fëa, bound to Arda, would cause this shock ripple through Narya. He felt it pull at Vilya and Nenya too.

Legolas had ignored his brusqueness and had pulled a chair out for him. At least he had stopped scraping away at that damned fiddle*, Gandalf thought petulantly.

'I told you to stop playing, Legolas,' Pippin said, pushing a cup of something into Gandalf's hand and looking up at him with wide anxious eyes.

'I thought I was getting better,' Legolas quietly murmured but Gandalf could not attend them.

'Get me to Elrond,' he said urgently. Leaning heavily on the arms of the chair he had just been pushed into, he heaved himself to his feet. His bones and mortal flesh felt too heavy, too weighted in this earth for him to move and he struggled until Legolas put his strong arm beneath Gandalf's and pulled him to his feet. The Wizard grunted a grudging thanks and clutched his staff. Instantly Power began charging through him, replenishing him after the shock.

'Get out of my way, Peregrine Took,' he said irascibly, for Pippin was hovering about like a concerned bluebottle. 'There is work to do!'

Pippin scuttled to the side and Gandalf looked up into the very green and concerned eyes of Legolas.

'And don't you think to stop me either, Thranduillion,' he snapped.

The green eyes widened imperceptibly but the Woodelf only smiled and bowed slightly. 'I have no intention of doing so, Mithrandir. Indeed I will help you.' He offered the old Man his arm and Gandalf, still not quite himself, grumbling, accepted it and leaned on the strong Elf as he shuffled out of the room.

He leaned on his staff in the other hand and felt the Power in Narya and the staff together leaping towards each other, charging, the energy forcing itself along his reluctant sinews, nerves, flooding his muscles so that he leaned less and led more. By the time they had reached Elrond's rooms, Gandalf was striding along and Legolas following, and so they met Elrond who was already opening the door of his private rooms and welcoming them with a worried frown.

'Come, Mithrandir. You felt it too.' Elrond ushered them into his spacious and airy rooms which seemed all glass and marble, and looked out over the Misty Mountains. Tall windows were thrown open and the cold breeze lifted the gauzy veils that seemed more like mist. 'Galadriel too?'

'Undoubtedly.' Gandalf strode into Elrond's rooms. He had always liked these rooms but he had no thought for them now. He noticed Legolas had followed him in and was standing irritatingly solicitous as though he might fall down at any moment. He tapped his staff irritably.

Though Elrond's face was smooth and unperturbed, Gandalf knew differently. 'I have only rarely felt such a thing…' Elrond came to stand beside him, looking out over the Mountains, his eyes gazing south along the march of the Misty Mountains, to where they disappeared, faded into the distance. 'Only once before. Long ago…And I did not have Vilya then and only felt it as a spirit burned away**.'

'Hm. That was a terrible business,' Gandalf tutted and his face was full of compassion. Olórin had always regretted the loss of so many bright souls and even now, in his deepest thoughts, he could not accept the judgment of the Valar upon the House of Fëanor***. _It always comes back to F__ë__anor,_ he thought. _And I will not be surprised if this does as well._

Elrond had turned and was pouring cold, pale wine into three goblets.

'Legolas will not be staying,' Gandalf said a little more kindly than before. He did not want Legolas to hear this; he was just as likely to run off to Phellanthir, full of guilt and recrimination and do something impulsive and ridiculous when Gandalf wanted him here with the Hobbits.

He nodded gruffly at the Woodelf. 'I am quite capable of standing up on my own, thank you, Legolas. I'll thank you to go and keep young Peregrine Took out of mischief. He has been unattended for at least five minutes and I do not trust him to bring the whole House down around our ears in that time.'

Legolas looked at him shrewdly and for a moment, Gandalf was struck by the likeness to his father, and smiled inwardly. The boy was not the fool he thought himself. It was the Ring, he knew, that made Legolas doubt himself. That would go once they struck out on the Quest.

'You do not have to think of something for me to do, Mithrandir,' he said wryly. 'I will keep practising my fiddling. It makes Gimli happy to know he can best me at something and keeps him out of mischief.' He gave a blinding smile that always warmed Gandalf and alarmed him in equal measure. 'You have no idea the damage that can be done by an idle dwarf.' He bowed slightly to Elrond and then he closed the door quietly, discretely behind him. Gandalf was thankful again for the very well brought up sons of Thranduil who had assisted him on more than one occasion when none other could have been trusted.

Elrond had sunk into a chair and looked haggard and drawn, as Gandalf had felt only moments earlier. He clutched the stem of the goblet but had not drunk any of the miruvor.

'Here my friend. Sip it,' Gandalf urged him gently. 'We will need to think this through carefully.'

'You know what this means?' Elrond said, obeying Gandalf. He took a sip of the cordial but he still stared into nothing. His voice was flat. 'Legolas was right. This is Rhawion we felt leave these earthly circles of the world. Where has he gone?'

'And how is it that he has gone and yet the Valar have not intervened?' Gandalf added tightly. He too sipped the cordial and let the light flood his mouth. It was strange how it revived him further and he felt his head clear. 'Úlairi,' he said. 'Have we not speculated before on their origin?'

Elrond looked up now in concern. 'The Rings devoured them, consumed their fëa,' he said slowly. 'This we are sure of. Do you think then that the Rings still have an appetite? That they still feed?'

Gently, Gandalf said, 'It has been quite clear to me for some time that they still feed. It was Saruman who scoffed at the idea.' Even now the betrayal was still so bitter. Everything he did he looked back on now through the prism of that betrayal and saw how stupid he had been, how beguiled, how he had been deflected and distracted by Saruman's questions and observations. He sighed. No good crying over that now; it was done and they would all reap the storm of it. But Rhawion had paid a terrible price for Gandalf's trust of Saruman. 'Usually on the souls of Men, I suspect, for we have not felt it as we have now. We do not where go the souls of Men, but it is different for an elven soul.' He shuddered at the thought of it; an elven fëa was energy, each one a resonance in the Song. That an elven fëa had just been snuffed out completely, had vanished from the world, from the Song was unimaginable. Although the Valar had taken that course with the tragic and accursed House of Fëanor, that had been their judgment. This was different.

He turned to Elrond suddenly even more troubled. 'How delectable to a Nazgûl would be an elven fëa with its brightness and Power?' He felt a cold chill steal down his neck, his spine. 'It had taken Rhawion by chance. It has been feeding off him, keeping his fëa alive- just enough to keep feeding. And now for some reason, it no longer feels it needs to…'

He found Elrond's eyes fixed upon him in horror. 'Is this true? Rhawion was being kept alive? So it could feed…' He closed his eyes.

Gandalf looked at Elrond with compassion. It was beyond his companion's comprehension just yet but soon he would realise and then the true horror would strike him.

'For now, Elrond, we must also consider why it feels it can…' He took a breath before the next word. 'Why it feels it can devour him completely…' He let that thought percolate. 'Erestor and Glorfindel are there.'

'And Elladan and Elrohir are yet on the road from Lothlorien!' Elrond came to his feet abruptly. 'You think the Nazgûl devoured Rhawion because it believes it has two other souls for its larder? We must send out a troop.'

Gandalf nodded. 'I think so. And I will go with them.'

tbc

0o0o

Notes

pitya-angu: Quenya- little snake. Worm.

*In More Dangerous, Legolas is learning to play the violin. Hence the reference.

**Elrond was fostered by Maedhros and Maglor after the Fall of Sirion. Maedhros is supposed to have thrown himself into a fiery chasm with the last Silmaril.

***The Oath taken by Feanor and his sons is this:

'Be he foe or friend, be he foul or clean  
Brood of Morgoth or bright Vala,  
Elda or Maia or Aftercomer,  
Man yet unborn upon Middle-earth,  
Neither law, nor love, nor league of swords,  
Dread nor danger, not Doom itself  
Shall defend him from Fëanáro, and Fëanáro's kin,  
Whoso hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh,  
Finding keepeth or afar casteth  
A Silmaril. This swear we all…  
Death we will deal him ere Day's ending,  
Woe unto world's end! Our word hear thou,  
Eru Allfather! To the everlasting  
Darkness doom us if our deed faileth…  
On the holy mountain hear in witness  
and our vow remember,  
Manwë and Varda!'

Some believe that Feanor and his followers are in Mandos' Halls, and some believe they are doomed by the Valar to the Everlasting Dark, as they swore. It is a hard and cruel Oath and you begin to understand why the Sons of Feanor were so driven by it- to avoid the Dark and to release the souls of their brothers already killed before the Oath was fulfilled.

The Doom of the Noldor was pronounced by Eonwë, the herald of the Valar:

'Tears unnumbered ye shall shed; and the Valar will fence Valinor against you, and shut you out, so that not even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the mountains. On the House of Feanor the wrath of the Valar lieth from the West unto the uttermost East, and upon all that will follow them it shall be laid also. Their Oath shall drive them, and yet betray them, and ever snatch away the very treasures that they have sworn to pursue. To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well; and by treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass. The Dispossessed shall they be for ever.

'Ye have spilled the blood of your kindred unrighteously and have stained the land of Aman. For blood ye shall render blood, and beyond Aman ye shall dwell in Death's shadow. For though Eru appointed to you to die not in Ea, and no sickness may assail you, yet slain ye may be, and slain ye shall be: by weapon and by torment and by grief; and your houseless spirits shall come then to Mandos. There long shall ye abide and yearn for your bodies, and find little pity though all whom ye have slain should entreat for you. And those that endure in Middle-earth and come not to Mandos shall grow weary of the world as with a great burden, and shall wane, and become as shadows of regret before the younger race that cometh after. The Valar have spoken.'

So it seems that the Valar judged they should go to Mandos' Halls of Waiting but their own Oath suggests the Everlasting Dark if they did not succeed. One could argue that the Silmaril, taken to Aman by Eärendil, was not recovered as they were not content to let the other two stay with the Valar. One does wonder why the Valar just didn't give them the Silmarils and finish it all before the last kinslaying at the end of the War of Wrath (I can hear pencils being sharpened for the furious arguments already!)


	4. Chapter 4 Relics

Chapter 4: Relics

In Lorien, deeply asleep and dreaming, she too felt it like a wrench in her gut. Something had gone from the world… Far away, a soul faded…No. Not faded. Extinguished. She felt the same shock ripple through Nenya, Narya, Vilya…As that small fëa went from the world, the Three felt it like the tides feel the Moon.

She sat up from her bed sharply, tears streaming down her face for the loss- oh, the loss! A bright soul extinguished. Surely nothing had happened like this since the First Age?

Celeborn awakening too, reached out to her, pulled her back to him and for a moment, she wanted nothing more than to turn into him, to bury herself in his strength, his warmth and smell, but the sense of dislocation, of a terrible shattering of the Song overwhelmed her.

Fighting the bitter words that were always so close to being spoken, she threw him off instead and went from their still shared bed.

'You felt it,' he said. He said nothing of her rejection of him; he never did. He swung his feet to the floor and leaned forwards. His face was pale. 'Something has happened in the Song but I know not what.'

'A fëa has gone.'

He looked at her uncomprehending.

'Gone! Vanished.' She said when he did not respond, irritation ringing in her voice. She was frightened, but would never admit to it. 'Extinguished.'

Celeborn stared at her for a moment. 'Is this Sauron's work? Surely he is not capable of it?' He fixed her with those penetrating, hazel eyes. 'I have not felt such a thing for many Ages past. If it is Sauron, why now?' He rose to his feet smoothly, and his long, long silver hair fell in a stream down his strong back. Her eyes lingered in spite of her fear, desire stirring in her loins as it always did. 'What has changed?'

Celeborn opened the door of the adjoining room and stepped through, threw open the armoire and pulled on suede breeches, a thin linen shirt over his head. He paused looking at her, the shirt still open to his waist and she thought how beautiful he was, that she still found him desirable after all the long years together and the terrible tragedy of loss. 'Elrond and Mithrandir will have felt it too?'

'Yes. They will have felt the disturbance in the universe. They will wonder at it…' Her fingers plucked at her gown restlessly; its white samite slipped easily through her fingers, fell in graceful folds around her, hugged against her breast and belly. She felt the pull of _curvë,_ the mirror, and wanted to run to it, to seek answers.

His mouth thinned as if he read her thoughts. '_You_ will of course be running to your Mirror for answers,' he said bitterly. It was ever between them, his distrust of the curvë of the Noldor, of Celebrimbor in particular. Her Mirror, her Ring.

She did not respond but looked at him obliquely. 'Where are you going?' she asked instead.

'I am going to the Marches to see if our borders are safe,' he said as if this were obvious. 'I must know if this is any threat to us.'

'It is not,' she said dismissively and sensed his teeth clenching.

'I am going anyway.' He pulled on his boots and swept his long hair back, secured it with a thin band. 'I will send messages after our boys,' he said.

That made her pause and she was suddenly seized with fear.

'They are in danger…' she murmured, remembering what she had seen in the Mirror when she had brought him to her. 'Elrohir…his darkness lures them. They want him for their own…' She had seen it, but even as she spoke, it was Elladan for whom she suddenly feared.

Celeborn stared at her, anger kindled in his hazel eyes, the anger of a father who could do nothing to protect his only daughter. It made him unreasonable. She understood that even if she resented it. He strode to her and grasped her arm. 'What have you seen?' he demanded. 'Tell me! Tell me _this time_!' He shook her slightly and she gasped, staring at him. His fingers clenched around her arm and hurt.

'What do you mean? _This time?_' she demanded though she already knew.

For a moment they stood, locked, eyes burning into each other.

Deep, unspoken resentment and anger simmered in his eyes. He blamed her, in part at least. But she blamed him too. She tried to pull away but his grip dug harder and his eyes were ice.

'_What have you seen_?' he said again but there was no gainsaying him this time. He grasped her chin and forced her head up. He had never forced her to give up her secrets before, never _made _her tell. It was too easy to forget _his _power, so focused was she on her own, but he had dwelled far longer in Menegroth than she. He had awoken under the stars and was one of the oldest. She felt the flutter of her heart in her breast and his eyes ground into her, blasted her and forced her to open to him.

'I saw them before the Morannon,' she cried. 'There were the Nazgûl and they forced upon Elrohir an iron ring, an iron crown!' The images crowded upon her, filled her thoughts. 'He will never wear such base metal!' she cried oblivious to her husband's shock. Her voice dropped now to a murmur and she turned inwards, remembering the visions that had crowded together in her Mirror 'Mithril he will wear, a different crown for he is most like me…I would make them kings in their own lands. Gil-Galad would be as _nothing_ compared with our dominion.'

'_Our dominion?_' he asked coldly.

She gazed up into green-gold-amber eyes, for suddenly hazel seemed too simple a word to describe the power of his gaze, lost in her own dreams of dominion, of pushing back the threads of time…of unlocking the door and changing the past. He read her like the words were written on a page.

'And how exactly will you do that? By taking the One Ring?' His voice was bitter but his eyes were full of sadness, loss. He turned away from her in disgust. 'You are no longer Artanis, the woman I loved. You are changed beyond recognition. Artanis would never have even considered that.'

Ah! How that hurt! She staggered back, clutching her breast. 'How dare you! How dare you criticize me for wanting Power, knowledge!' Her voice cracked, sobbed, and she felt the angry tears well up and cursed herself for womanly weakness. 'You cannot possibly understand…' The _pain _in her womb, in her breasts, in her heart, for her child. How could any man understand that! It was such a little thing, to take the Ring, to make it all right…to take the hurt and suffering and make it so it had never happened. She would be whole again…

'_Tell_ me!' he stepped towards her, hands outstretched, a last appeal.

But she flung away from him, proud, proud, proud. She would not tell him what he should already know. 'How can you be so stupid! How _can_ you not know?' It was as if he had forgotten Celebrian.

He turned away from her then. 'Do you think you have the knowledge and Power to hold the One? You forget that I was under Melian's* tutelage long before you set foot upon these shores. Do you think you can turn back time, you can part the threads and change the world?' He laughed bitterly. 'It is not only the Nine Rings that consume their bearers. You no longer simply bear Nenya. You ARE Nenya!'

He turned on his heel then and parted, leaving bitterness and frustrated fury in his wake.

o0o0o

Celeborn flung himself easily down the slender hithlain that took him speedily to the forest floor, cloaked in golden leaves, muffling and softening all sound. Sometimes he felt suffocated. A fall of leaves suddenly scattered around him like golden rain. He could not deny the anger that raged in his breast, even as he could not help blaming her in part at least, that she had not foreseen what would happen on that fateful journey from Lothlorien to Imladris, that she had not stopped their daughter from going so late in the year when the snow was deep on the Pass, and Goblins and Orcs roamed…

He strode to the mews where he kept his horses and birds. It was quiet, the birds all roosted sleepily on their perches. The silence and peace soothed him. A few hawks turned their hooded heads as he passed. He walked more softly now though his thoughts were restless, full of recrimination; Celebrian had been so keen to get home for Yule, to be with her children, her husband, and he had laughed indulgently, protested, but been persuaded to let her go. A knife in his heart twisted. He had let her go. He was not blameless in this, should have refused to let her go, should have gone with her, known when she was attacked, left earlier to search for her…

Did Galadriel think she was alone in wishing to part the threads of Time, to change the Past? Did she not know that he would empty his heart, his veins of blood, would suffer unimaginable torment to spare his sweet child one second of what had befallen her?

But he would not lose his boys. He had lost his daughter and he knew he was losing his wife.

Murmuring softly, he stepped into a stall and smoothed the feathers of the falcon within. It turned its head and shuffled along its perch so the jesses jangled slightly. He hummed the falcon's Song so it stepped onto his leather gauntleted wrist and he smoothed its feathers, quieting himself as he did, letting the dark and anger flow from him into the air, the wind, as Melian herself had taught him long, long ages ago. He opened his free hand and let the his lingering resentment and bitterness towards his wife drift away, leave him. But even cool and calmer as he now was, he could not ignore the estrangement that had been gradually happening between them. It had taken a long time, but their shared pain had simply driven a wedge between them instead of drawing them closer.

He sighed and bowed his head. There had been long years where they had shared a purpose, belief, happiness even. But that had been destroyed utterly and he could not see how they would ever recover now…After the Ring had been destroyed as Elrond and Mithrandir decreed, Galadriel would sail. He knew that though she did not yet admit it even to herself. But he would remain. And diminish if that is what Eru had decided for those who yet lingered on these shores…The falcon shifted restlessly and he looked down at the wild thing he had captured and tamed. A pain swelled in his chest for what he had lost.

Hoofs clattered on the stone floor of the stables and he looked up; one of the stable boys was leading out his horse, silver coated Idrilhen, who snorted and shook his long silver mane. Celeborn knew the boy well and smiled.

'Thank you Rosgalad.' With one hand he smoothed the horse's soft muzzle and handed the bird to the boy whilst he mounted.

'Will you be back soon, lord?' asked Rosgalad fearlessly, for Celeborn was well-loved by his folk.

Celeborn shook his head. 'I ride to the Marches. Do not wait up for me.' The boy handed him the falcon and Celeborn let Idrilhen ease into a long loping canter along the green sward and beyond the city wall. He carried his hawk smoothly, raising his wrist so the bird would not unsettle.

'You will go to my children,' he whispered to the bird as they rode. 'You will tell them of my unease. An elven fëa has slipped from the world…' He conjured images of his beloved boys, their faces clear and sharp. He showed the bird the way over the Hithaeglir, through the Redhorn Pass and beyond into the wilds that were now Eregion.

_The Noldor have brought only evil, _he thought to himself, and then berated himself for his treachery to his beloved wife. _Yes, still beloved_. _And not __**only **__evil, _he admitted._ But much evil has come of it. _

He had reached the edges of the Wood with ease as the Moon set over the high peaks of the Misty Mountains. Stars faded and Eärendil sailed down into the morning. He gave a small inclination of his head to the Mariner, whose blood was mixed in the veins of his beloved boys. _I hope you watch over them too._

He kept his mind clear of any of the images he had seen in his wife's memory, and raised his wrist, conjuring the last sharp images of his children, their black horses coming down off the Mountains, for surely they were over the high ridges by now? The hawk looked about sharply, cocked its head on one side to regard him unwinking with its yellow eye and then flapped its wings. _Go. Seek the riders who have my heart. Tell them my fear. Be vigilant. Make haste home with news for me._

The falcon climbed swiftly upwards on the air currents and when it was a mere speck, it sped like an arrow into the vast dawning winter sky.

As he turned, he let himself dwell on what he feared almost as much as the peril to his grandsons. Galadriel with the One Ring…They had had news that the One had been discovered, was to be taken to Mordor to be destroyed…It was planned that the company should pass through Lothlorien. Celeborn pursed his lips thinking that he would rather it went anywhere but Lothlorien. Could they not go through the Gap, and then Rohan, avoiding Lorien altogether? He hoped that might still be their path.

There was more though… what she would do should the Ring come to her. She would push back Time, unravel the threads and unpick the Past…change the future.

Ah, he could not blame her; he wished to do the same to save his little girl the torment she had suffered. But Galadriel would not stop at that. She would have every elven lord and king kneel before her and worship her as they would not the Valar.

And his boys, Elladan and Elrohir? Her plans made him cold.

_I would change the world__…_she had said_._

…_I would make them kings in their own lands. Gil-Galad would be as nothing compared with our dominion._

His boys would never be kings as she envisaged, he thought. They would become wraiths and he would kill them himself before that happened. And though it would break his heart, he would kill her too if need be.

o0o0o0o

Far away in Phellanthir, Erestor had let his sword drop to the stones with a great clang. The Nazgûl had vanished, fled. And Rhawion's dimming, fluttering light was utterly extinguished.

Erestor covered his eyes with his hand. He bowed his head and so quietly so that Glorfindel would not hear, he prayed. 'Eru, hear me at last. Hear the prayer of those you have forsaken,' he murmured. 'Punish us no longer. Have pity.'

He felt Glorfindel's hand clasp his shoulder. 'Has it gone?' He shook Erestor ever so slightly. 'Enough. We have time for prayers later. For now we must make sure there are no others, and that the _angu _has gone indeed….And _where_ it has gone.'

Glorfindel's blue eyes were still flaming and bright. He was wiping his sword on his cloak, breathing hard. But the strange atmosphere in the dim hall prevailed and Erestor heard Glorfindel's thoughts, his recriminations and guilt as clearly as his own.

_Too slow, too slow! As I was for Celebrimbor…Even worse, Rhawion threw himself into the jaws of the Nazgûl to distract and deflect the blow that might well have killed me._

No doubt Glorfindel could hear Erestor' miserable prayer equally well, he thought. Neither of them offered the other solace or excuse and Erestor was glad of that. There was none. They had failed. Utterly. He closed himself off from the failure that curdled in Glorfindel's breast, not wanting to hear, to see what was in Glorfindel's mind- it felt too intrusive and regardless of the way he presented, Erestor was respectful of grief. He had had too much of it himself to wish to endure another's.

At last he spoke quietly. 'I feel nothing of the Nazgûl,' he said, looking around and peering into the darkness.

'Nor do I,' Glorfindel agreed. He paused, and then added, 'But I feel a presence, a Power. And it is close, very close…Like smoke after Mithrandir's fireworks.'

Erestor knew what he meant; the air was charged like a lightning bolt had struck. A metallic tang was on his tongue. He glanced up with sudden interest. 'This was Celebrimbor's _Oromarde-Curv__ë__,' _he said slowly, searching his memory of this place. 'His greatest treasures were here, though surely they must now have been either destroyed, or worse, plundered and taken by Sauron. But perhaps there is some lingering Power.' He could hear his own voice as if from a great distance, as if he uttered some great portent.

'We must make sure there are no other Nazgûl.' Glorfindel sighed heavily and rubbed a hand across his eyes. 'It is too close to Imladris, and though we…' He paused, then said emphatically, 'No, _I _have failed Rhawion, I would not have them close to other elves.'

'Not you alone,' Erestor said quietly and held up a hand to still the other's protest. 'We both failed. I as much as you, whatever is in your heart.'

'I do not see what more you could have done, Erestor…'

'And I do not see what more _you_ could have done, my friend. Rhawion did not know you at first, could not see you for the pain caused by the Nazgûl.' He shook his head slowly. 'Let us not argue over apportioning blame.' He reached out to Glorfindel and clasped his hand in conciliation. 'But you are right that there could be other wraiths and we still do not know why the Nazgûl guard this place. Surely there is nothing left of any worth?'

Wearily he leaned on his sword and pulled himself to his feet. He drew himself upright and looked about curiously. 'What advantage does it give them?' he mused aloud. 'The Angle is close, and Imladris, but both are well guarded and secure against the Nazgûl as we have seen. Even all Nine.' Glass crunched beneath his feet, old, ancient glass. He wondered absently why it had not been eroded by the thousands of years, ground into dust by the weight of Ages. Perhaps there was some lingering magic, and the stones themselves had not quite forgotten the Elves, he thought. But what he said was, 'They had enough time to take anything of worth and destroy anything that they could not use.' He took a step into the darkness. Shattered glass ground beneath his feet.

Glorfindel must have thought the same for he suddenly said, 'What do you think this glass is? Surely it should be dust?'

He looked down at his feet again. Stooping he picked up a shard of glass and cradled it in his hand. It felt smooth, and a little warm as if it had been in the sun rather than in a dark, abandoned hall. He caught a flicker of luminescence ahead of him and thought for a moment it was Glorfindel, but surely his companion was behind him?

'It is a mirror.' Glorfindel's voice came from behind but his glimmering shape appeared before Erestor, approaching from the wrong direction.

Erestor started, glanced behind to see Glorfindel behind him. He gasped and then laughed at himself. 'Of course. A mirror…'

The hall had been lined with many tall mirrors that reflected light from the shafts cut high in the vaulting roof as it was in the Great Hall through which they had entered the citadel. But here in this high hall, this inner temple, the light was filtered through prisms of glass. It had the strange effect on light so it split into vertical bars of colour.* Celebrimbor had talked about this endlessly; he said it was important why the light spilt into bars, why it did not simply split into the spectrum, how it could be understood. He had wanted to harness it somehow as Fëanor had done with the Palantri…A memory struck him with painful clarity, as sharp as if it happened yesterday…

…_Celebrimbor's bronze hair gleamed in the torchlight for the sun had gone, and his grey mercurial eyes glittered. He looked so like Maedhros for a moment that Erestor was distracted and lost for a moment the thread of the discussion. Annatar had leaned forwards, his golden-amber eyes glowed uncannily, disturbingly, Erestor had thought for they did not yet know Sauron in his disguise. Here in the Guild of Smiths, Annatar was a great craftsman, a lore-master, a gift from the Valar, said Celebrimbor. A refugee from Angband, said others who did not trust him._

'_You must watch to see why it is that the light splits this way. I have a machine that will help you to see what I see - a copper plate, a screen that I have treated and made myself…' He went into how he had made the screen and how it showed light. Erestor had been intrigued but sceptical…Celebrimbor excited. The next time Erestor had visited, there had been huge mirrors in the hall, a sheen of copper coated them so the hall was filled with an ethereal golden light and then the light spilt; it was like walking through some strange, distorted rainbow.…_

'Yes,' he said slowly. 'There were endless mirrors here. So perhaps one survived.' He tossed the shard of glass and caught it again in his hand. 'As the light struck each mirror, it changed…there were pencil beams of light on the surface. It was a wonder but Celebrimbor used to say that _this_ was not the wonder, this was only the merest suggestion of the Power that could be unlocked with such knowledge.' He turned his head to Glorfindel and smiled slightly. 'It amused Celebrimbor no end to see the faces of those fortunate enough to be invited to join him here…'

_And Annatar_…It had amused him too but Erestor did not say that. A shiver went down his spine to think he had sat in here and dined with Sauron himself, when all the while he was using Celebrimbor to help him uncover the secret of the Rings and then plotting to kill the man who helped him in the most coldblooded manner possible…

A flicker of thought touched him then, a memory that was not his. Glorfindel was thinking too, lost in memory. How strange it was that he kept seeing things that he had not seen with his own eyes but through the filter of his companion's memories, hearing things he had not heard…It was the lingering Power here in this ancient _Oromarde-Curv__ë _that caused this mingling of each other's thoughts and memories_. _And now he saw Glorfindel's memory as if it were his own; Glorfindel's charging attempt to rescue Ost-in-Edhel…

_... __they could smell the smoke and stench of burning flesh as they galloped along the banks of the Bruinen to Ost-in-Edhel__'s aid. __The host of elven steeds and knights, helms gleaming in the sun…Too late, too late…his white steed's long mane streamed before him, hooves pounded the earth until he crested the ridge and lifted his visor to see better the burning city, the crumbling towers blasted and razed, saw it all with his piercing blue eyes that had seen more than any Elf living. Behind him was the snap of their own bright pennants streaming in the wind and the pound of horses__' __hooves...too late, too late…_

…_Far ahead, ranks of Orcs, thousands upon thousands trampling the same earth as Elves, trampling blood into that earth, shrieking their triumph. A bloody trophy was lifted high; at first he couldn't see what it was but then he turned aside and retched. A strand of long hair had lifted on the wind and a low, painful cry came from the still living Celebrimbor. Naked, bloody, he twitched and whimpered as he was hoisted into the air by jeering Orcs and then a forest of elven arrows whooshed over the heads of the standard bearers and the body went limp…_

Erestor gasped in horror. He had not known. Not a single man who returned from that failed rescue had spoken of this, that Celebrimbor had been alive when they hoisted his poor tortured body high on the spear. He felt bile burn in his throat, and turned aside and retched.

He remained for a moment, leaning over, blinking, and wiped his eyes; he had not known for he had not witnessed the sack of Eregion.

"I am sorry… We kept that secret. War, you know how it is.' He felt Glorfindel's hand gently upon his shoulder and nodded. He did indeed know; secrets and lies were the aftermath of battle, of War, to spare the families, to polish the reputations if the victorious slain, to tarnish the name of the defeated. He felt the skin of the water bottle pushed into his hand and took it gratefully. Cold clear water soothed his throat and slowly he straightened.

'It is right that you did…Thank you.' He did not say what he was thanking Glorfindel for, whether it was for the water or for ordering the flight of arrows. It did not matter. He thanked him for both.

Glorfindel took a step into the darkness. His back was to Erestor but he could see the broad shoulders were a little bowed and knew he felt it still. In spite of his hostility to the House of Fëanor, he still grieved for Celebrimbor and his folk. It had been a devastation in Eregion. Not a soul left alive in any of the three great cities.

Glorfindel stooped and he too held a shard of glass in his hand. It was one of the prisms that had glazed the roof. 'It is strange that the glass has survived in spite of the ages that have passed,' he mused. 'And it seems one mirror was left intact. Does it serve some purpose, for surely Sauron did not overlook this place?' He stepped closer and peered into the last mirror. His own reflection swam eerily before him and then Erestor came to join him and their faces appeared in the glass, pale and ghostly, like they were floating in the absolute darkness of the mirror. Their faces seemed lit by some unearthly light.

Erestor reached out slowly, fingers touching dark, cold glass for a moment. His fingertips tingled for it was like passing his hand through icy water, or as if his fingers had dissolved into the mirror somehow. He drew them back but his fingertips still tingled and he rubbed them together quickly, an unpleasant sensation indeed.

'Unbroken still?' he said wonderingly. It seemed to him there were shadows drifting in the air behind him in the mirror and when he turned his head there was nothing. 'Ghosts?' he murmured. 'But whose?'

'What do you see?' Glorfindel peered into the dark glass. Within the mirror, their faces floated and behind them, or before them- he could not tell which, was a distant light like a star. They stood looking into the mirror and suddenly it seemed to Erestor that they teetered on the brink, the very edge of a chasm of vast darkness… And they were beacons of light.

Erestor had the strangest feeling of dislocation then…He was disembodied and adrift in that vast emptiness within the mirror. Like the distant light, far away in the dark.

…_It was almost unbearable on those stark, cold winter days in Himring, bleak as his own heart. He was cold steel, __star__ing out at An__gband, __his one fist clenched. _

In shock, Erestor stumbled back. A sudden sense of vertigo struck him hard as a blow and he clutched at Glorfindel's arm. All sense of time and place was gone, pulled, distorted by the _Oromarde-Curv__ë_of this place, and Erestor was suddenly in Himring again at his lord's side. But the memory was not his; that memory was Maedhros'.

He was not even aware that beside him, Glorfindel had gone rigid, his eyes wide and he stared in horror at something far away and distant in the mirror…

He heard Glorfindel's voice as if it came across a great distance. 'Come away! Erestor!'

He felt as if he were someone else, Glorfindel tugging at his arm but Erestor had sunk to his knees and reached out to the dark, cold glass… his hand seemed to dissolve into darkness, leaching his warmth, sending out a flare of light. He barely felt Glorfindel shoving his arm under Erestor's shoulder and hauling him to his feet.

'Come Erestor! We cannot stay here!'

'No, no you do not understand,' Erestor cried and scrabbled at the mirror's edge. 'He is there!' Glorfindel prised his fingers away and shook him hard.

'No, I do _**not**_ understand,' he said and hauled Erestor away and towards the wide, sweep of stairs that led back down to the great hall, away from this place. 'And I think nor do you. There is more in the mirror than mere ghosts. We must fly this place.'

tbc

_Melian: Queen of Menegroth. She was a maia, like Olorin/Gandalf. She kept Menegroth safe through her 'girdle' a protective circle that kept all evil from their doors. In my verse, Celeborn has studied under her, has a wealth of wisdom and 'magic'._

_Oromarde-Curv__ë__: The High Hall of Knowledge. This was the seat of learning, the centre of Celebrimbor's experimentation in Science and the High Arts of invention, innovation, technology, knowledge. There is no question that Fëanor understood Science and Technology in an intensely serious and deep way; he harnessed light, he discovered ways of imbuing crystals with phosperhence that remained long after the source of the light had gone. He created the Palantri- seeing stones that communicated over long distances. I have attributed Galadriel's Mirror to Celebrimbor as I cannot see Galadriel accepting this from Fëanor or Curufin - and Celebrimbor would have had the benefit of both his father and grandfather's knowledge as well as his own developed over a long life and his association with Sauron._

_*The light splitting into pencil beams of light is the copper-plate test that quantum mechanics uses to show how particles do not behave as expected. (short version!) I have no doubt that Annatar would have been able to show Celebrimbor this. The copper sheen on the mirrors is a ME version of the experiment. _

_If you think about it, the elves lived forever- Fëanor made significant discoveries in his lifetime and Celebrimbor lived through the first age (part of it anyway) and it was __1697__ when__ Eregion__ was destroyed, and he dies. So he must have been at least 1880 years old depending when he was born. That's a long time to be thinking about science and technology! Also war tends to drive invention and I do not believe that Maedhros would not have invested time and money into developing weapons, improving farming to supply his armies. Not just Maedhros but Finrod, Turgon also living in hidden cities where they must have developed technologies for surviving the isolation._


	5. Chapter 5 Now I know in part

Beta: Anarithilien - always right!

**WARNING for slash in this chapter.**

Thanks to reviewers. And if you are a bit rusty on the Silmarilion, there are notes at the end. But you may want to read them first.

**For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.**

1 Corinthians 13

**Chapter 5: Now I know in part**

A cold wind fingered its way between the trees that clustered around the edges of ruined Phellanthir, rustled through the last few dry leaves on bare branches that laced the sky immediately above Glorfindel. It was bitter chill and snow lay on the air from the mountains, swirled around the ancient and desolated city. Glorfindel shivered and then frowned. This was not cold. Not to someone who had crossed and survived the Helcaraxë…The cold came from within.

He and Erestor sat together beneath the sheltering of trees in silence for a long while. Neither could bear to speak, each sunk in the confusion of thoughts and emotions surrounding Rhawion's loss; they had failed and could not bear to speak, to even look at one another. Glorfindel could not forget the way Rhawion's flickering light had hurled itself against the Nazgûl to distract it from striking at Glorfindel and he relived it over and over and over, berating himself mentally for his slowness, his inability to coax the hesitant fëa to follow him. He stifled a moan and instead dug his fingernails into his hands as if that small pain would suffice.

And then he had seen in the deep darkness of the mirror, a distant spark of shadow and flame. An ancient enemy.…_A whip cracked, flame licked, caressed a blade of fire…fire so hot it boiled the blood and melted …_

Glorfindel felt the tremble in his hand that he thought had stopped long ago. He gripped one hand in the other, waiting for the trembling to stop. But it would not. He dug his nails in deeper to the fleshy part of his hand but it did not hurt enough, not enough to stop the pain of Rhawion's death, not enough to stop the fear.

Silently he opened his pack and dished out the last of their rations, quickly so that Erestor would not see how his hands shook, how his face was drained of blood. He could not bear the idea of food for himself but he knew he must eat. It was harder bread than he knew Erestor would have liked. Usually Erestor would have complained loudly but Glorfindel could see that he too was stunned into silence and Glorfindel was grateful at least that he did not have to speak, for he thought his voice might tremble as did his hands. Erestor flipped open the last wineskin and drank, passed it to Glorfindel without looking at him.

Erestor seemed barely cognisant though he was calmer now. Erestor too had seen something in the mirror but it was not what Glorfindel had seen, and Glorfindel was not sure if he wanted to know what it was that had caused the stunned, perhaps desperate elation in Erestor's amber eyes.

Chewing the hard bread, Glorfindel busied himself making a small fire. He did not think they were in any more danger by having it and although he was concerned for Erestor, it was for himself that he built the fire. Ironically. But still neither spoke and Glorfindel still could not bear to look Erestor in the eye, not just yet.

Small flames flickered over the little pile of kindling and he thought how they had been experiencing each other's thoughts and memories. It had become more intense and distinct the closer they drew to the mirror but they had not seen the same thing, of that Glorfindel was certain. Unless Erestor was even more insane than he had thought.….He stared into the flames, let his gaze drift. Could it be that even after the centuries of abandonment, the _Ormalondé_ and the mirror within it yet had some strange power? Erestor had said Celebrimbor played with _Orma, tumnalómë; _that his curvë was unsurpassed in these later times. And throughout the years of his greatest experimentation, Annatar had sat at his right hand. Sauron. He knew all the secrets of the Noldor now. No wonder he had placed Nazgûl to guard this empty and haunted city. But what did Sauron think he was guarding? If it was the mirror, what was its power?

And although the strange power of Phellanthir explained the Nazgûl's presence, it did not explain why it now devoured an elven fëa when it had never done so before.

Restlessly, he threw a small twig on the fire, unnecessarily and pulled the water-skin from his pack and two small tin cups. He poured water into each and set them between the stones of the shallow fire pit he had already dug.

Was it a mere memory reflected back to him in the mirror, or was the _Valarauko_, the balrog, somehow seen _through _the mirror itself.. or worse, trapped somehow on the other side? Was that why there was so much smashed glass on the floor of the hall? Had someone deliberately smashed the mirrors…had some_thing _tried to get out?

The hairs on his body stiffened in horror. Had something already got out?

His hands stilled and he stared into the little flames that flickered up through the kindling.

_Shadow and flame._

…_..Ruinataró….._

A whisper. A distant blaze in the darkness. The other side of the mirror.

He turned to stare into the dark trees and bushes that waved suddenly in a wind that seemed to come from nowhere. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled stiffening and he felt an unreasonable fear in the pit of his stomach…

'We must leave. Now. Before the snow falls,' he said, standing up. He started to kick over the fire but Erestor lay a hand on his foot and stayed him.

'No. Why? Why so sudden? We have only just found the secret of the Tower and you want to turn tail and run?' He shoved Glorfindel's foot out of range of the fire, aggressively and Glorfindel stepped back.

'We must leave.' Glorfindel ran his hands through his hair anxiously. 'Erestor. Think.!' He crouched down beside Erestor, wanting to impress upon his companion the urgency, the danger they were in. 'Rhawion has been… destroyed. And there is …_something_ in that mirror. We need to tell Mithrandir, and Elrond. Let them decide.'

'We cannot simply leave this to Sauron,' Erestor said angrily, turning his face away from Glorfindel. He leaned over and grabbed a stick to stir the ashes of the fire that Glorfindel had kicked over, teasing it back to life.'We are not leaving. Have you forgotten already Rhawion's sacrifice?'

Glorfindel had to steady himself against the thin trunk of a young tree nearby. Covering his eyes with his hand, he shook his head. Ah, Rhawion! That faint fluttering light that was all that remained of Rhawion's fëa had cast itself into the clutches of the Nazgûl to distract the wraith, to save Glorfindel from a blow that would surely have killed him. He felt a cry fight its way from somewhere deep inside and heard himself give a low groan. He clutched his chest for it hurt physically to think on it.

Immediately Erestor was on his feet and reached out to him. 'Ah! Forgive me my friend!'

But Glorfindel stepped away, shaking his head. 'No. I deserve no comfort.' He forced himself to look at Erestor, to face Erestor in his own cowardice. 'You are right.' He could not help glancing over his shoulder into the dark trees, his hair still on end and prickling. Cold and afraid, he thought with disgust, he who feared nothing. Needing something warm but afraid to abandon his guard, he leaned down and reached for the tin cup of water that had warmed in the flames.

…_Do you fear to meet it again? Do you fear the whip of fire, the blade, the sheer, unimaginable heat that scald and then burns, sets your hair alight, melts your skin, your eyes.. _

The tin cup clattered and water spilt, hissed on the flames.

Erestor looked up in sudden concern. 'You must not blame yourself so,' he said quietly and reached out to still Glorfindel's trembling hand.

Glorfindel stared down, shocked at himself, disgusted with his craven cowardice. For he was not the only Elf to have faced, and been slain, by balrogs and dragons.

'My heart forebodes,' he said, but he could not speak of it more.

Erestor watched him in concern for a moment and then carefully settled himself by the fire, knees drawn up and thoughtful. It was intended to soothe, thought Glorfindel but it did not.

'In Eregion we thought it was safe, it was the good times,' Erestor glanced up at Glorfindel and then back to the fire. 'We thought we could prosper and grow as Fëanor had told us we would when we followed him from Aman- as my father did.'

Glorfindel stood on the edge of the firelight and stared out into the darkness; he had had the same dreams, the same desire to Iive as Eru intended, but Erestor was speaking of the Second Age after the War of Wrath, when Moringhotto was banished to the Everlasting Dark, beyond the ken of Elf or Man. By the time Celebrimbor had come to Eregion, Glorfindel had been long dead, his body ash upon the mountains of Gondolin…It was not as if he had not thought it before, but here in the shadows of Phellanthir with the distant fire and shadows in the mirror, it raised the hairs on his neck so they were stiff with horror. His hands tightened into fists for he felt a tremble begin once more and it seemed to him there were things lurking in the trees just beyond the firelight. But he could hear nothing.

'We thought we could pursue our ambitions to the end,' Erestor continued as if he did not know that Glorfindel was standing at the edge of the light, straight-backed, tall, but tension in every muscle of his body. Erestor reached for the loaf of hard bread and tore a piece off. 'We thought we could know the mind of Eru. And Celebrimbor thought he could heal Arda itself. He wanted to build a kingdom such as Valinor, to rival, even surpass it.' Erestor sighed and stared into the small tin cup in his hand. 'But the Enemy will not countenance it.'

He spoke in a way that Glorfindel knew he did not mean Sauron. Although he was significant enough, he was nothing compared with Morgoth_; _Erestor knew that of all the inhabitants of Imladris, Glorfindel alone knew that when he said _the Enemy_, he meant Moringhotto Bauglir himself. But Erestor spoke of Morgoth as if he were still a threat though the Valar had cast him into the emptiness of the Everlasting Dark more two Ages ago.

'I do not understand how completely he managed to destroy the House of Fëanor. It is almost as if the Music demands it…' Erestor continued. He stared into the fire, the flames that licked and danced and gave comfort, warmth. 'Almost as if it is written, in the Music. That it is the will of Eru that the House of Fëanor is sacrificed to defeat Bauglir.'

Glorfindel glanced away from the dark trees for a moment. Erestor had that faraway look in his eyes and did not blink. A strange light seemed to flicker in his eyes though Glorfindel did not know the source. There was a wildness, a fey light in his eyes and not for the first time did Glorfindel wonder what it was that had elated Erestor when he touched the mirror. And why had Erestor not felt the Balrog as he had? Erestor looked down, absorbed, he drew something in the dust although Glorfindel could not see what it was unless he moved from his place at the edge of the light. He was not sure he wanted to.

'_To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well,'_ Erestor said suddenly, bitterness in his voice and Glorfindel braced himself against the heresy that was sure to come for he had grown used to Erestor's Fëanorian rants when in his cups in Imladris. 'Why would the Valar wish this, Glorfindel? Why would they curse us so that every single good deed ends in evil? What perverse delight does that give them in the revenge they have wreaked so entirely upon us?'

_Us_ to Erestor was Fëanor and his followers, kinslayers, heretics and Glorfindel was not one of them, he told himself, though at Alqualondë he had stood by horrified, unable to judge what was happening and how the terrible killing had begun.

'You are overwrought,' Glorfindel said a little shortly, and moved slightly. He had honed his patience to a weapon but it was growing thin; the loss of Rhawion and the growing sense of horror unnerved him. He looked into the trees again. _Was that a stick breaking under a foot? _He started and took a step forwards, hand already on the pommel of _Eruvatorë. _Nothing.

_You are being foolish_, he told himself . _That distant spark could have been anything…it could have been the reflection from Erestor's strange Fëanorian sword…_But he knew it was not.

_Shadow and flame._

…_..Ruinataró….._

A whisper in the darkness of the mirror. In truth, there was no doubt.

Erestor's voice ran in in the background and at first Glorfindel barely attended -he was listening to the woods, stretching out his awareness, feeling for a flame, heat that singed the edge of the air…But there was nothing.

'_Tears unnumbered ye shall shed; and the Valar will fence Valinor against you, and shut you out, so that not even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the mountains. On the House of F__ë__anor the wrath of the Valar lieth from the West unto the uttermost East, and upon all that will follow them it shall be laid also. Their Oath shall drive them, and yet betray them, and ever snatch away the very treasures that they have sworn to evil end shall all things turn that they begin well; and by treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass. The Dispossessed shall they be for ever. ..."_

Erestor's voice took on the tone of a storyteller telling an old, familiar tale, as it indeed it was. Glorfindel did not want to hear this now. He did not want to dwell on the past, and Gondolin. And his own was evil in the woods, he was sure and this was merely a distraction

'Do you not think it harsh, Laurëfindë, that to evil end shall _all things turn_ though they begin well?' Erestor asked bitterly. 'Is that what your Gods wish for Middle Earth?'

Glorfindel pressed his lips together at the thinly veiled insult and braced himself for the inevitable tirade against himself and Gondolin.

'Celebrimbor was not even born when Fëanor left Valinor! He began such good and worthy deeds only to be betrayed by Sauron, the Maia that the Valar could not control and let go free after all his wickedness. Is that what the Valar wanted? Had they already doomed Celebrimbor to an evil end before he was even born?'

Erestor gulped at the tin cup he clutched between his hands, swallowed and blinked hard. 'And it was such a very evil end!' He looked down into the empty cup for a moment and then up at Glorfindel accusing. 'Was that what your Valar wanted? Are they satisfied yet by the blood sacrifice of the Noldor yet?'

'_My_ Valar?' Glorfindel would normally have steeled himself and let the bitterness and disappointment wash over him. But he was worn thin with… with what? _With fear_? He glanced at Erestor and snapped his mouth shut before he said things he would later wish he had not.

'Did you never wonder how the war was going?' Erestor was determined, it seemed, was accusing and angry.

Glorfindel did not answer, but he turned away and looked up at the dark sky. There were no stars. 'We were braced for the storm that was going to hit Gondolin,' he said as he had a thousand times before, but he heard a thin tautness in his own voice.

'Did you never think to yourself that perhaps hiding in the mountains was a tad cowardly when the rest of your people flung themselves again the walls of Angband?' Erestor pushed himself upright and stared at Glorfindel. 'Did you not think to yourself that you should ride out and help?'

'No.' Glorfindel snapped suddenly. 'This is not the time or place, Erestor. You do not want this discussion now.'

'Why not? I cannot think of anywhere more suitable than this.' Erestor flung out a hand toward the darkness that crept at the edges of the firelight, towards the even darker and brooding tower. 'Does it not make you think of Gondolin after you had gone? Its tall towers, white spires brought low by Turgon's proud isolation.'

Glorfindel, already on edge, could not help clenching his fists.

'Turgon was such an arrogant prick, sitting there in his splendid cowardice…Turgon his name, turgid his nature!'

Glorfindel glared at him then and Erestor gave a sly smile, knew he had pricked the impermeable skin of his patience. Glorfindel said, through gritted teeth, 'I am going to let the Nazgûl have you. With any luck they will take you to Barad-dûr. You could defeat Sauron single handedly. He will explode in fury and I will be done with both of you.'

Erestor laughed loudly at that, pleased. 'You are recovering your sense of humour, Laurelindë. Lost that so-perfect-balrog-slayer shine. You do need to overcome your own demons,' he added coolly, just prodding now that unhealed wound. 'You've never really forgiven the Valarauko for killing you, have you? After all, you aren't the only Elf to have slain one. But I suppose you aren't the only one to have been killed one either. I wonder why it was you and not Fingon…'

Glorfindel gasped. He had a horrible sense of a destined meeting, the distant fire rushing towards him, the rush and roar of flames. 'If your great lords had only paused and thought,' he retorted in both anger and fear, 'if they had only listened instead of throwing themselves uselessly at the gates of Angband, we might have got somewhere. But they were so determined to get those damned jewels they could not see anything but that! If they had not killed other Elves in Lossar, in Doriath, in Sirion, if they had not betrayed Finrod….'

'If the Valar, cursed be their names forever until the Dagor,' Erestor snapped back, rising to his feet, 'if they had given them the Silmarils instead of denying them, if Thingol had given them to their rightful owners, if that stupid, stupid Elwing had handed it over, if if if…' He stood chest to chest with Glorfindel, amber eyes flashing and fists clenched even as Glorfindel's.

Glorfindel shoved him away, breathing hard, face flushed and lips parted and all thoughts of the forest and danger forgotten. 'Maedhros' one good deed was to give up the crown to Fingolfin. At least he knew the weakness of his blood, the curse upon his House and sought to rid the Noldor of the Fëanorian taint.'

'Ifhe had known where the crown would end up, he would never have yielded it to Fingolfin,' Erestor flashed back. 'I admit that both he and Fingon were worthy of the kingship, but how Maedhros must have despaired his generosity knowing the crown was going to Turgon!'

Glorfindel turned to face Erestor, his patience snapped. 'Maedhros is the bloodiest villain in history!' he said in a low, threatening voice. 'In the bloody history of the Noldor, he is the bloodiest of Elves. He swore the Oath that sent them all to ruin, he slew our kin on the shores of Aman for ships – and left us on the blood-soaked shore with nowhere to go, left us to face the wrath of the Valar alone! He let his mad bastard brothers loose in Nargothrond to betray Finrod and die, he led slaughter in Doriath, in Sirion.' Glorfindel took an angry step towards Erestor, fists clenched. 'He led and exhorted Elf to kill Elf, man, woman, child. He let the children of Dior die, and he would have killed Elrond had his own damned brother not protected those children.' Glorfindel used a word then that had even Erestor looking at him in shocked admiration. '_Helfdîn_! He broke into the camp of the Valar and slew the guards on the worthless bloody Silmarils and stole them…It was just as well he threw himself into the fire for if he had not, I might well have helped him!' Glorfindel stopped, chest heaving and eyes blazing.

Had Erestor not heard it so many, many times that he hardly heard it - though not as colourfully and not from Glorfindel - he would have thrashed him. Instead, with astounding and calculated temerity, he merely yawned elaborately. 'You have become boring, Glorfindel,' he said provocatively. 'I thought you better than to believe half a tale told by the ignorant and stupid. You of all people should know that a story tells only a part of what happened.'

'You aren't telling me this is not true!' Glorfindel heard the sarcasm in his own voice and could not help it. 'Was Maedhros somehow innocent? Oh forgive me! How misunderstood he has been these long years!' Glorfindel turned away in disgust. 'Oh- of course it was Feänáro's fault. After all, poor Nelyafinwë. He only did as he was told.' He turned on Erestor, expletives flying from those normally cool, perfect lips. 'It was just as well Moringhotto held him captive for so long. Eru alone knows what more havoc he might have wreaked in those years! He was soaked in blood,' he said vehemently. 'I can never forget the blood on the shores of Aman…'

'Yet you still came,' Erestor said with feigned boredom. 'I have never understood why you lot followed when you could see the fires on the shores of Ennor. You knew you were abandoned! Why did you come?'

'_Because_ we were abandoned, you fool! There were those who had betrayed us and we wanted them to see! We could not be shaken off like a dog. We followed because Fingolfin followed. And because we believed in the cause. We believed in Feänáro's lies. We believed we would be free in Ennor, that the life in Aman was not as we should be…Because we could not bear to think of Finwë's death unavenged! He was our king too!'

'That may be so. But he IS here!'

For a moment, Glorfindel thought he had gone mad. 'Who? What do you mean?'

A dangerous and fey light came into Erestor's eyes then and he clutched Glorfindel by the shoulder, leaned in as if telling a great secret. 'My lord. Maedhros. _He is here._ He has returned to help us. As you did.'

Glorfindel looked at him in horror. 'You fool! Is that what you think? Is that what you think you see in the mirror? I tell you, you are wrong. There is peril, danger…'

'What did you see? Are you afraid? I have seen him! Why not? YOU came back. Why should it be only you to come back and no one else? Why not Fingon, or Ecthelion? Have you been sucking Manwë to get favours? Or serving Námo? He was…'

The punch was hard. It socked Erestor on the jaw so his head jerked back. So hard it hurt Glorfindel's fist.

Erestor reeled and sank to the ground, blinking like he saw stars. He let his head drop against his chest so his hair hung around him, his hands loose at his sides.

Glorfindel rubbed his knuckles ruefully, all heat gone from him. He looked away into the woods. The sense of danger had dissipated. There was nothing there now.

He looked back down at where Erestor was holding his mouth and pressed his lips together. He would not apologise. Erestor had had that coming for, well, years, he thought.

Erestor touched his lip and his hand came away bloody. 'Well. I suppose I deserved that.' He glanced up at Glorfindel irrepressibly. 'It was almost worth it.' Glorfindel looked away irritated again, but beyond belief Erestor continued, 'I tell you, I know Maedhros is there. He has returned.'

Glorfindel turned away, refusing to even give Erestor's preposterous claim any credence._ '_You test me sorely, Erestor.'

Erestor pulled his cloak around him and caught the edge of it, lifted it to dab at his lip. 'Ah, but just to see the fire ignite in you and the passion that had almost gone out burst into flame.'

Glorfindel glared at him but crouched by him anyway. He put a finger under Erestor's chin and pulled his face first one way, then the other, examining the cut. 'Barely a cut,' he said dismissively and stood up.

'It will add to my rakish look,' Erestor said irrepressibly. He watched Glorfindel, his amber eyes deep and penetrating. 'I forgive you the blow, but not the slander against he who was the most honourable, noble, kind, and courageous man I have ever known. He did all of those things, it is true but not in the way you say. And he did not give Maglor a Silmaril- he took both.' Glorfindel stared back irritably, he did not much care whether Maedhros had taken one or two of those cursed jewels, it made no difference to him. 'I _swear_ to you. Glorfindel. Maedhros is in there. Somehow. He has returned to help us.'

That stunned Glorfindel into silence. He stared at Erestor; surely he was mad? Maedhros returned? 'What do you mean; he is _in_ there? In where?'

Erestor sighed, frustrated. 'You know exactly what I mean. Somehow he is …well, somehow he is in the mirror. Or in a place reached through it.' He looked up at Glorfindel then and the fey hopefulness was back. 'He _is here, _Glorfindel. I felt his memory as if it were my own. I _know.'_

'I must have hit you harder than I thought.' Glorfindel flexed his hand experimentally and shook his head. 'You know that this is just a delusion, Erestor, brought about by the Ring working on you before we left Imladris- it made you vulnerable, and then we came here where there is a strange power so you were experiencing what I thought and I you.' He took a deep breath, relief suddenly flooding through him as he listened to his own words and believed them. _The Balrog is no more real than Maedhros, _ he realised. _It is long gone into the Dark. _Suddenly the distant flame in the mirror was only a flicker of light reflected from his sword perhaps, or some piece of glass glinting. He breathed and looked down at the ground, letting all the hysteria seep from him. _It was no Balrog_, he told himself. The whisper had been his imagination amplified perhaps by the strange power of the mirror, or perhaps only the Hall itself.

The relief was so intense he almost stumbled. When he looked up, he saw that Erestor watched him acutely.

Even then, he did not expect Erestor's next question.

'What did _you_ see in the mirror? I know that you were afraid.'

Glorfindel pulled back, unwilling to speak of that distant spark he had been so convinced was his old enemy.

But Erestor persisted. 'There is only one thing I can think would strike fear into your heart, Glorfindel of Gondolin, of Imladris, fearless, blessed. Only one…' He stared at Glorfindel now, the orange flames cast a light over his features, shadowed the sharp cheekbones and angular bones of his face, flickered in the strange, vulpine eyes. 'I know what it is you saw.'

Glorfindel took a step towards him. 'Do not speak it.'

'I am right then. You saw the demon that slew you…'

Glorfindel thinned his lips and looked upwards, away into the huge empty night. 'I saw…a flicker of something… like a flame. But it was only the light reflecting from your sword perhaps, or mine,' he said firmly. 'There is nothing in the mirror but glass.'

'I do not believe that.' Erestor was defiant. 'I felt, _knew_ Maedhros' thoughts…It was _so clear.'_

There was such longing in his voice that Glorfindel flicked a glance at him and compassion mellowed the sharp response that was on his lips. 'It is the strange power of this place that makes us see things,' he said softly. 'If it were true that you saw Maedhros, how is it then that you felt something that was your heart's desire and I felt my only fear? And for all his faults, Maedhros would have battled a balrog with everything in his blood. Either he or the balrog would have been vanquished.'

That silenced Erestor indeed and he looked away so that Glorfindel could not see his face.

The dark trees that edged the small clearing in which they had built their fire suddenly seemed just that, and all sense of menace gone. Above them the night sky soared and Glorfindel felt the cold air coming down from the mountains, smelling of snow. It seemed clean and fresh to him, and he welcomed it for it cleared his head now of the cobweb of fear that had seized him in Phellanthir. Of course, the Nazgûl's presence had been very strong and he reproached himself for being so beguiled by their chief weapon, fear. Surely that was why he had not recognised the distant flicker for what it was, sword, glass, starlight, but thought immediately of demons?

He shook his head at himself and his gullibility and sat beside Erestor. He picked up a smooth stick and held it between his fingers for a moment, contemplating its silvery wood. 'You are haunted by your past,' he said more gently. 'As I am haunted by mine.' Rarely did he speak of it for it cost him, even in Imladris and here in the empty night of Phellanthir with its shadows and delusions, it still felt like he was tempting Námo himself.

Yet he continued because in spite of the fact that Erestor was dangerous and mercurial, and he brandished his past like a banner, unrepentant and brazen, Glorfindel knew that he was as deeply hurt and damaged as he was himself by the events of his past.

Quietly he spoke. 'I have thought more of it recently. I have thought more of Gondolin, how it was that we were betrayed, how we failed to see the truth about Maeglin.' He struggled over the name. 'I have…questioned myself and why things happened as they did.' He chanced a look at Erestor but he was resting his elbows on his bent knees and staring into the fire. The orange glow reflected in his strange eyes, making him look even more vulpine than ever with the shadows of his cheekbones, the angular handsomeness. That scar on his face that was so faint as to be almost invisible.

'You know my thoughts, Erestor,' he said even more quietly because these were confidences he had shared with no one. Ever. Though perhaps many might guess at the tenor of them. 'You burst in on me the night of the council. You challenged me then about the influence of the Ring. You yourself knew that it was amplifying your own loss and longing.' He paused, waiting for it to permeate Erestor's defiant refusal.

'Ash Nazg.' Erestor murmured. 'Of course. Perhaps that is what this is. The Ring is on the move.' He shifted and sighed. 'Perhaps.' He was slowly accepting it, thought Glorfindel. 'Perhaps the mirror enhances memory. The beast that still looms over your past and my lord…' His voice cracked a little and he swallowed. 'My lord in mine.' He looked into the flames and the reflection of flames was bright in his eyes.

Glorfindel almost out his hand on Erestor's shoulder but he knew it would not be welcome now. Blood spotted his mouth still, wet and bright.

'If it had been your lord indeed, then you would have to ask why he was in the same place as the demon. It would mean that the mirror was a… door? A gateway somehow to the Everlasting Dark…' He paused and then looked at Erestor, his own blue eyes bright and clear. 'And surely Maedhros is not cast into the Dark?'

He remembered, long ago, in another life. Turgon had bid him look into the Palantir that had come to him from his father. Gondolin was not quite as remote as many thought. He remembered the sudden surge of Power as he touched it and he almost drew his hand away but the darkness within the stone had cleared and he saw through cold Himring, where another Palantir was kept. Through the glass darkly, he saw a tall, shadowy figure turn and approach. Broad- shouldered and lean, Maedhros. His mercurial eyes fastened upon the stone and his face, even scarred and disfigured, was still beautiful, his hair of burnished bronze….He had smiled thinly when he locked his gaze with Glorfindel for there was no love lost there…But he had spoken passionately, persuasively, commandingly to Turgon, and so they had ridden to join the war…

Glorfindel shook his head and answered his own question. 'No. Maedhros cannot be in the Everlasting Dark.' Even with all the sins of his House, of his own even Glorfindel thought tragedy hung about the eldest son of Fëanor.

Erestor was deep in thought now. He drew something in the dust again, a star. Fëanor's symbol.

Erestor opened his mouth and then shut it again quickly. He flicked a quick look up at Glorfindel as if he were thinking something entirely different, and if they were still in Imladris Glorfindel would have have thought it a sly look. But Erestor said then in an exquisitely mild voice, 'We should go back.'

Glorfindel started. He had not expected that, although he knew they could not simply leave.

'We must discover why it is that the Nazgûl was put here to guard it,' continued Erestor. 'And why the Nazgûl have suddenly started to consume elven souls when they have not done so before.'

Glorfindel sighed. He did not wish to return to that dismal place where the echoes of the past were segued one into the other. But they could not leave the Nazgûl alone and in command of this place. 'Very well,' he conceded and he did not see the triumphant look on Erestor's face. 'At first light we will return to the Hall.' He felt a strange cold creep over him, like fingers tiptoeing stealthily down his spine. 'One day only. When night falls we leave. I do not wish to be in that dreadful place again in the darkness.'

Erestor said nothing but poked at the fire with a long stick. The sparks flew up orange and gold like flaming hair, and he had a contemplative look in those eyes. Beside him, the dust had been blown across the Fëanorian star and it could barely be seen.

tbc

0o0o

Who's who:

Fingolfin- Fëanor's half brother, whom he left upon the shores of Valinor when Fëanor took the ships and burned them.

Turgon- one of Fingolfin's sons, and later King of Gondolin and then High King of the Noldor after his older brother's death. (Fingon, who in my verse was in love with Maedhros)

Gondolin- the hidden elven city ruled by Turgon. Glorfindel was a lord of Gondolin. They only emerged during the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, the Nírnaeth Arnoediad. That was the last time the elves from Gondolin took part in the fight against Morgoth, hence Erestor's jibe. Glorfindel is assumed to have been reborn and returned to Middle Earth to help the fight against Sauron. In this second life, he led the siege against the Witchking of Angmar (chief Nazgul) but prophesied that the Witchking would not be slain by any man. It was Eowyn of course who did that (girl power!)

Palantir- Fëanor made the Palantir it was said and in my verse, Maedhros gave one to Fingolfin and so it came to Turgon. I have Maedhros using it to ensure that Turgon felt sufficiently guilty to join the forces of the battle against Morgoth.

Maedhros

Nelyafinwe Maitimo Fëanorian, known variously as Russandol, Nelyo and Maitimo and then later as Maedhros, was the eldest of seven sons of Feanor, the maker of the Silmarils - great jewels that were stolen by Morgoth after killing Finwe, Feanor's father (Morgoth was the original Dark God who Sauron served and who was eventually defeated and cast into the Everlasting Dark by the Valar at the end of the War of Wrath and the end of the First Age). For revenge, Feanor crossed the sea and arrived in Middle Earth after stealing the ships from another race of Elves by violent means- this was the first kin-slaying. In leaving Valinor (Aman) Feanor left behind half the Noldor, including his half brother, Fingolfin and his sons, including Fingon who had been a dear friend of Maitimo/Nelyo. When Fëanor arrived he set fire to the ships so that none could return for the rest of the Noldor. Maitimo/Nelyo alone stood aside and would not set a torch to the ships. His concern was for Fingon who was left behind. (In my verse Fingon is in love with his cousin although I have Nelyo/Maitimo refusing him as the Laws and Customs does not recognise any union between the same gender.) Feanor was killed almost immediately and Nelyo/Maitimo captured by Morgoth. He endured torment and captivity until Morgoth hung him by his wrist from Thangodrim.

During that time, Fingolfin and his sons arrived having crossed the Helcaraxë, the Grinding Ice (their company included Galadriel and Glorfindel) and when Fingon heard that Maitimo was a captive, he set off to rescue him. He found him, it is said, by singing and playing his harp and Maitimo answered and pleaded with Fingon to kill him. However an eagle arrived and instead Fingon was able to fly to Maitimo's side and release him but only by cutting off his hand. Maitimo gave up both his crown, as Feanor's eldest son, to Fingolfin, and his former name, becoming known only as Maedhros.

Much later, Fingon was killed in the Battle of Unnumbered Tears (Nirnaeth Arnoediad) by Gothmog, the lord of the balrogs. In my view, this is the moment when Maedhros unravels and although he tries so hard, he becomes hard and bitter, and as one by one his brothers are killed, he engages in further kin-slayings. Eventually he and Maglor, his last remaining bother, take the Silmarils from the victorious Valar who have finally joined the battle against Morgoth and defeated him. It is said that Maedhros took one Silmaril and cast himself into a fiery chasm. Maglor is said to have taken the other and cast it into the Sea…

But not in my stories.

In my fic, Erestor was one of the many children Maedhros 'fosters' but in a rather loose and casual manner in that he scoops them up and houses, feeds them- he almost cannot help himself, unable to see a child abandoned partly because of the torment he endured from Morgoth, and partly because it reminds him of Valinor, home, his family, father, brothers …to have lots of children around. They follow him and become part of his army. Erestor is named Narmófinion by Maedhros and is one of his closest personal attendants.

Glorfindel:

Was a lord of Gondolin and when Gondolin was


	6. Chapter 6 Through Moonlight

Beta: Anarithilien- thank you.

Thanks to the many reviewers and readers, and those writers of fanfic who write such inspirational stories that have Maedhros as central or an important character, Spiced Wine, Himring, Dawn Felagund, Lyra etc. There are many many more but I think those have influenced me the most. Hope I haven't nicked anything without asking!

For a dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight…"

**_Oscar Wilde._**

**Chapter 6: Finding his way by moonlight.**

Moonlight shone on the once smooth and marble walls of the ruined tower, stole in through the cracks in the stone, and fell softly into the darkness. It crept amongst the shadows of the Oromardë, and touched the bronze and copper device that had lain unused for Ages past. Those levers and cogs had not rusted and were any hand to touch the mechanism, it would glide as smoothly as it did for their maker. The moonlight illuminated dust floating in the silence, settling on the obsidian surface of the mirror, shone on the surface of the glass and made a patch of twilight in the absolute Darkness on the other side.

Deep within that Darkness, a spark of light gleamed softly in the empty firmament, steel blue and cold, drifting.

Here in the Everlasting Dark, memory bled, leeched away by the emptiness so everything was forgotten. Memories, thoughts. Even words. But the blue steel spark clung to one memory like it was wreckage, for it made all that long existence trapped inside the Dark worth living.

_It was a memory of those stark, winter days in Himring, as bleakly cold as his own heart. He remembered his hand clenched around the stump of the other because it always ached in the cold. The sky was steel grey and filled with louring cloud. Standing on the battlements staring out at Angband it was as ice-cold as his empty bed._

_The boy, Närmófinion, breathless and red-faced with running, burst onto the battlements and shouted that there were riders approaching, that it was the High King, and he melted and fled up the icy stone steps of the highest tower, straining to catch the first glimpse of his liege lord, his cousin, Fingon the Valiant. Findékano the beloved. Leaning out over the wall he felt he could fly, as they had when unbelievably, Fingon had rescued him from an unending horror. If he had not loved Fingon before, he would have loved him then. In the far, far distance, Fingon's silver and blue banner whipped in the wind, and one horse streamed ahead of the other riders, hard pushed to keep up. _

_His own heart gave a great leap and he threw himself recklessly down the steps, blood thumping furiously through his veins and heart pounding. Shouting orders, he strode through his fortress, throwing a command here about rooms, food; another there about who else would be in the King's company, where they should be housed. And then he was almost running to the stable, throwing himself on his own fiery steed and clattering out of the fortress, shouting orders as he went._

_The King. The High King. Cousin…Only when he was out and racing his own horse towards the silver-blue banner did he think, Fingon! Fingon is here!_

_When the riders appeared, Fingon was ahead, his black steed flattened out at a gallop, tail streamed out at the same angle as the rider's long, long black hair with its ridiculous gold braid. _

_His gaze cradled Fingon like he was glass. Gazing at him, hoarding every detail, every glance, every word, every breath. He barely listened to the words, so intent was he on watching Fingon's mouth, his eyes, his hair, those silly gold braids that Fingon had worn ever since he himself had suggested it one cool summer evening, long, long ago. In Tirion. _

_His mouth twisted in a pained smile that was somewhere between doting and despairing. It was but a day's rest on the journey to somewhere else, but Fingon smiled (oh so heartbreakingly lovely, dazzling and Maedhros' own heart leapt, choked him with love….fool!) and said he could not pass Himring by. _

_After the feast, the High King had gracefully suggested they retire to consult on the battle plans, for they were in the final stages now of the onslaught upon Angband. The final battle….that would become known as the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, the Battle of Unnumbered Tears. _

_But that was still a while away. For now he had Fingon to himself for a whole day and a whole night, in Himring with those who loved them well. And so it became harder, in every sense, to resist the longer he was in Fingon's beloved company. He knew he was starving himself, dying of thirst and could never, ever get enough - and yet he would not touch Fingon. He would not yield to his cousin's onslaught. He knew Fingon despaired of his 'damned nobility' but his sweet and beloved cousin did not care as much as he about what it meant to be High King.__The kingship had never mattered enough to Fingon, he thought fondly, heart in his mouth and bursting, and eyes full of his beloved._

_But resist he would. And when finally, they were in private, and Fingon threw himself into his arms, pressed kisses on his mouth, groped senselessly at his thigh, Maedhros clamped his teeth down on his groan so Fingon spun back furiously. _

_'__Damn your honour! Do I have to lose mine to another so you will yield to me? What is wrong with you, Nelyo! You act like some shy virgin and I know you are not!'_

_And Maedhros turned from him, regret twisting in his mercurial eyes. 'I am not Nelyo anymore. I am Maedhros. And you are the High King.' He made an obeisance as if to reinforce that._

_'__Man of steel? So hardhearted. I could be dead tomorrow!'_

_'__Never say that!' There was nothing that could defeat him but that. 'Please. Never say that.'_

_But it took those words to bring him to Fingon, to bring his body and press up against Fingon's. It took the mere thought of Fingon's possible death to make him twist his arms around his king's neck, his waist, like he would never let go. It had him allowing his beloved rescuer, his faithful, valiant lover to shove him against the granite wall and press his mouth against his._

_And when finally after only a day, he left, Maedhros clung to those stone battlements again, gaze fastened upon Fingon's tearing steed, galloping flat out along the paved road, his guard strung out behind him like streamers. He heard Närmófinion slip into the room behind him. 'Go after him, Närmó. Stay with him. Give him this.' He pulled a ring from his remaining ring finger with his teeth and pushed it into the boy's hand. He glanced down at the ruby that glowed against gold; Fëanor had made it for him. 'Tell him…tell him…'_

_He pressed his hand against his eyes. 'He knows what he is to me.'_

It was the last time he ever saw Fingon. Beloved, beloved, **beloved **Fingon.

Over the Ages of the Dark, it was harder to hold on to the memory, to see the beloved face, hear his voice. So each time he did remember, it was more precious than any jewel, **_any _**jewel. He grasped it like it was a gift, though the pain of his loss crushed him deeper and deeper into despair, though all other memories had been burned away and only this one remained.

Ages past, forgotten. Dust and ash.

Now there was only the Dark, and he drifted again for a while, watching the twilight in the Glass. Curious and waiting for the shadows to appear.

Curious. Yes… that was the word, although he had forgotten what curious was until now, forgotten all the words… There had been nothing but that one memory, not for Ages past.

There had once been another shadow in the Glass. Long, long ago. He had a strange feeling fluttering in his breast at the memory and he reached for it like he would a…a snowflake?

Except he could not quite remember what a snowflake was. And the long ago shadow in the Glass…He clutched at a name: Tyelpo. Yes. That was it…but that too melted away as quickly as the thought…He drifted again. Close to the Glass where the light was familiar…like the light from something else, that was important. Something had been unutterably bright once. Long ago. But the thought of it brought a terrible crushing in his chest and reminded him that he was here somehow because of that.

He brushed against the coldness of the Glass, and at his touch, the Glass shimmered and moved. _Something_ rippled through it, and his steel blue bright burning spirit reached for the warmth, the heat left imprinted on the Glass on the other side, by the shadow's hand. There was warmth and slowly memories loosened and fluttered like moths against the dim twilight of the Glass. Slowly he began to take on a dimly remembered form.

He reached out to find his fingers pressed against the cold glass and his fingers sank as if into snow.

He had forgotten snow until then. He had tried a smile but it felt strange, as though skin were too tight over teeth, over jaws that were unaccustomed to moving; it was like Angband again…Angband.

Angband forced itself upon him; the squalor of his body and his spirit…_there, just a knife blade, lightly__…__and now there, just on the breastbone__…__do you see that point between the fingernail and beneath, just slide that in there__…__like that__… __Now let us see what you have here, encased in silk skin__…__it is flaccid now but look how it can be coaxed even against his will__…__.Do you see how the metal heats? How hot it is now? Put that in there while you are stroking it__…__Do you see the pain that causes? Like nothing else. Heat that__…__Nail that in__…__Break those__…_

_Eyes burned into him, black, crushing darkness. A precursor to this, the Everlasting Dark, the Void. For both of them had ended up here…A voice that set his teeth on edge, buried itself into his flesh, a dark mace that crushed him under its weight, pressure like gravity._

_Succumb to me, or your Oath will never be fulfilled._

_After he gave up screaming because his throat was lacerated, the voice was there again. In his head._

_You will dream of me long after you are dead, see me burned onto your eyelids, think of me at every touch__…__even in the Halls of Waiting you will not forget__…_

It was true. He could not forget.

He could not forget because his was not the only spirit in the Dark. There were older, more powerful spirits. One that was darkness itself.

The cold belly of the Void was like an old fire with nothing but ash. Gold had glittered on the other side of the Glass.

An awareness settled upon the Glass. A Presence

He felt it watching, remembered its voice.

A roar was building in the belly of the Dark.

0o0o

tbc

Next chapter already written and ready to post next week.


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